Skin of Glass
by S.Hagen
Summary: [COMPLETE]An old friend has asked Misara Dawntide to defeat a champion of evil whose actions threaten the Silver Marches. But what if there is more to it than a lone Black Guard wandering the lonely roads of the North?
1. Night of Snow and Blood

**Skin of Glass  
** By Shawn Hagen(2005)  
-  
The Forgotten Realms was created by Ed Greenwood and is owned by Wizards of the Coast. Names of places, people and things unique to the Forgotten Realms are used here without permission and I make no claim of ownership.  
- 

**Chapter 1 - Night of Snow and Blood**

Snow had softened the rough edges and jagged lines of the land. Falling flakes made the once clear air nearly white, muffling sounds as it masked vision. A strong wind, blowing from the northeast off the Great Glacier carried a sense of wrongness as well as the punishing cold.

It was not a night to be outside.

She stood on a ridge, cloaked in white, covered by the same snow that hid the land. She had not moved in some time and the snow gathered on her eyelashes, brushed across her face, melted, traced wet paths across her cheeks like tears, and then froze in the fur lining of her cloak's hood.

It would have been easy to mistake her for some fine statue, but for the tiny wisps of vapour that arose from her mouth and nose.  
She stood in the open, but only one paying careful attention might spot her.

And those she was hunting were not paying close attention.

They were making their way up a set of switchbacks that climbed the side of the mountain. There were other ways up the slope as it was not that steep, but they were lazy.

For the past twenty minutes they had been climbing, moving into and out of her view. She caught snatches of their conversation, the harsh, inelegant phonemes of the goblin tongue. They had been drinking, some might be drunk, and were little concerned. Careless and foolish. Not that being sober would have made much of a difference.

She had marked them as they climbed. The two giants at the front, breaking the trail for their smaller companions, the five figures, swathed in furs, all the size of humans, six smaller forms, likely goblins, bringing up the rear, pulling the sledges. A strong force for one to deal with, but she had already made her plans.

When they passed the ridge, heedless of her, she moved, leaping down at them, her cloak billowing out behind her, like wings. She fell between the two hill giants, her sword spinning about her as if it were some separate creature unconnected to her.

A deep slash opened across the back of one giant's neck as she dropped. Lower, a slice into the abdomen of the other. The blade then ripped across the back of the first's thighs, cutting through the fur and clothing to the flesh beneath. Just as she touched ground, her feet landing lightly atop the snow, she savagely hacked the second one across the knees.

She leapt away, leaving the two giants, both mortally wounded and crippled, to collapse. One fell forward onto its knees. The other toppled backwards, crashing over two of its companions.

As the giants fell, bleeding, she stood on the edge of the path, sword held out, a line of red along the blade. She watched as her foes stumbled about, confused, unsure of what was happening. She could have leapt forward, moved among them, cut two down before they could react, and she was tempted to do so, but she held her position.

One of them saw her. He lifted a war-axe, his hood falling back from his head to reveal the hard face of a human; from one of the barbarian tribes, she supposed. He charged her, voice raised in a call to Tempus. She waited, watching as he swung the axe at her. At the last moment, just before the blade would have hit, she shifted to the side, treading on the edge of a fall, letting his force draw him across her blade. The sword cut deep, and his falling body might have pulled her over the side of the path had she not twisted the sword to break the hold of flesh.

She heard him fall, the cries of pain cut immediately, violently short with a sound of breaking bones.

And now they were aware of her. Aware of the fact that three of their number were dead, including their two strongest. She stood there, still covered in her cloak, untouched. They might run.

A tall orc came forward, moving with care, a battle-axe in his left hand, a shield on his right arm. He thought he had an advantage, he was used to fighting right-handed opponents; fewer had experience with left handed ones. It was true, but did not take into account that in the many years she had lived she had had faced a large number of left-handed foes.

His first attack was retrained; she could tell he was not completely committed to it. It was supposed to draw her out, give him a better idea of what he was dealing with. She did not react other than to take a small step, making certain that her footing was secure.

When he came in again it was more aggressive, but again it was not a real strike, at least not with the axe. When he swung the shield around, trying to bash her with it, she raised her sword, catching the heavy circle of wood and deflecting it above her head. Moving forward, under his shield arm, the axe still out of the way from his feint, she slammed the pommel of her sword into his jaw, breaking teeth.

He lashed out wildly, the axe coming around faster than she had anticipated, forcing her to leap back.

The goblins were trying to pull crossbows from the sledges, she could hear their panicked cries as they searched for and fought over weapons. At least one of those the giant had fallen on was trying to get free. The largest of the five who wore cloaks was trying to move forward to support his companion, but the giant's corpse hindered him.

Falling back under the leader's renewed onslaught-driven by anger and pain she suspected-she watched him fight, at the same time keeping him between her and the crossbows the goblins would soon have ready.

The style, with shield held high and the low slashes with the axe, was-and she was surprised to note it, but not so much as to let her guard down-Dwarven in nature. An orc who had copied the fighting style of the Dwarves, mixed with the savagery of his own race.

He was far too smart to be allowed to live.

She had left the fallen giants behind and been backed partially around a corner, giving her cover from the goblins. The corner was one of the reasons she had chosen the area for her ambush.

Instead of falling back from his next stroke she moved forward, catching his axe blade with her sword. Steel on steel rang out, and sparks fell about them. The force of the blow was transferred through her sword and into her hands and wrists. It hurt.

His axe blade went up, deflected high. She used the force to spin around him, avoiding his shield, slipping across the snow so she stood behind him. He was wearing armour, an iron collar circled his neck. He was not wearing a helmet. Orc skulls were reputed to be thick, but not that thick, she thought, as she brought her blade down on the crown of his head.

She pulled her sword free of his ruined skull and turned smoothly to meet the attack of a tall man. He was quick, and armed with a two bladed sword. His technique made the weapon a shield as well as a sword, the spinning blade ready to parry any move directed at him.

Slipping into a purely defensive stance, she parried each of his attacks, using minimum energy for each move, letting him flail against her defence. His technique was good, but ultimately sloppy, made up for by his reach and strength. She had fought such opponents before, and the opening came almost as she expected.

Her sword speared forward, slipping easily through his defence, the point of her weapon taking him in the throat, pushing through until a hand span of steel slid out the back of his neck.

For a moment they remained in their final stances, then he began to sag, and she pulled her blade free.

She turned and walked further up the trail. She stopped by a small opening in the rock, placed her blood-covered sword down, and then removed her longbow and a quiver of arrows from the cleft.

Stringing the bow as she walked, she listened to the chattering of the goblins as they tried to decide what to do. When she turned the higher corner of the trail she could look down on the scene of battle. Already the falling snow was beginning to cover the bodies and hide the blood. Almost as if it never happened, she thought, nocking an arrow and drawing the string back.

She released. A goblin screamed and died. Another arrow, another goblin died. The four that remained broke and ran. She waited until the switchbacks of the trail made them targets again. With precision she cut them down, the arrows speeding towards their targets with a fatal whistling.

She put the bow aside, picked up her sword, and then went to check on each of her fallen enemies.

Of the two that the giant had fallen on, only one remained alive: A woman, with the blonde hair and blue eyes of the barbarians, still partially trapped under the fallen giant. She looked up and began to beg, "Please, please kind warrior. Spare my life. Please, please spare me."

She stopped near the wounded woman, but not too near, and looked about. There had been a great deal of killing here. And it was not finished yet.

The long sword blow was precise and clean, mercifully killing the woman.

She reached up and pushed her hood back, her blue-black hair, pulled back from pointed ears, was a stark contrast to the snow. She knelt down near the body her green eyes looking into the already clouding, fear filled, blue eyes of her foe. She gently closed those eyes. "May your gods find you and keep you," she said softly in Elvish.

She stood, cleaned her sword, and then sheathed it. There was still work to do.

-

At the top of the path was a village. It was set into a deep and wide cleft in the stone-which had led to its name of Deep Cleft. A palisade closed off the open side, forming a space that enjoyed much in the way of defence.

One of the smaller gates opened and a young man rushed out, almost tripping in the snow. "Misara," he called happily. "Misara is back!"

Misara paused in her labours as the young man, more a boy really, ran towards her. Behind her were the two sledges, piled high with anything of value. She had pulled them up the path, away from the site of battle.

"Epcha, call some of your lazy friends to pull these inside," she told him, letting the harness fall.

"Right Misara," he said happily, then turned and yelled, "Woric, Tomas, Defan, get out here and help us!"

She watched him, a little surprised at his confidence, that natural way he lead. He had only seen fourteen summers, hardly a man even by human standards. When she had seen fourteen summers she had still been a child, innocent, protected, never wanting to be too far from her mother. Epcha had seen his mother die.

The three he had called, young men like him, came running from the village, laughing and joking, calling out greetings to her as they came. Then they took the harnesses and pulled the two sledges into the village. Misara followed behind them, watching them, a little amazed at how easily they had adapted to their lives.

But that was the nature of humans she thought, the amazing ability to adapt, the drive to better themselves, often at any cost. It had sent many of the Tel'Quessir retreating from Faerûn many years before.

She stepped through gateway; Epcha left his friends to pull the sledges farther into the village as he ran back to close and bolt the gate. Again, that sense of responsibility in the young man: While his friends were beginning to unload the sledges, treating it almost as if it were full of presents for a festival day, Epcha was making certain the gate was properly barred and shut.

As she watched Epcha close the gate she noted Darvin Fullerson making his way towards her. He was the village's leader, an old man with thinning white hair, cropped short. He limped, favouring his right leg, and as he got closer she could see the scars that covered the left side of his face, and the eye patch he wore.

She nodded as he got close. "Master Fullerson," she said politely.

"Lady Dawntide," he replied, using the human equivalent of her family name: Anor'Esira. "I am glad to see you safely returned."

"I killed them all," she told him, keeping her voice low. "I made certain of the two giants and the woman."

He closed his eyes, some tension seeming to leave him. "I am glad of that."

"I rolled their bodies down the hillside, they are all far from the village now. If the winter scavengers do not feast on them you can ensure the bodies are pushed into the Rauvin come Greengrass. Until then the snow will hide them."

"They were the group I was most worried about," he told her. "The two giants could take down our walls, and Creske was far too cunning. I think she was beginning to suspect that we were hiding things from her."

"Perhaps, but now it is over."

"For a time," he told her, nodding. "If we can sell all of our goods at Silverymoon this year... Well, we'll have to see what the future holds."

"Yes," she said, nodding. She was looking over at Epcha and the others. Several other young men and women had joined them and they had found the crossbows. "I should have taken them with me, as you said."

"But you didn't." It was not an accusation, just a statement of fact.

"If I had, some would have been hurt, some might have died."

"They will have to be blooded eventually. Sooner is better."

"What you say is true. I will take them up into the mountains tomorrow. We'll likely find something dangerous, but maybe not so dangerous that we will have to bury any of them."

"As you say."

"I'm going to get some rest now."

"I'll show Epcha and his cronies how to use those crossbows." Darvin gave her a half bow-he likely would have bowed deeper if his injuries had allowed it-and then limped over to the sledges.

She watched for a moment, then turned and walked towards her house. The single story cabin had been empty when she had arrived in Deep Cleft, like several other structures in the village. It was well made, with sturdy, planed logs, fitted together and mortared in place with a mixture of clay and stone. Whoever had built it had taken the time to make certain it was done right.

There was smoke rising from the chimney so she was not surprised to find Mary kneeling by the hearth, boiling water. There was also the smell of chicken in the house. Mary's famous stew.

She looked up at Misara, a broad smile appearing on her wrinkled and weatherworn face. "Lady Misara, I am glad you are back. It is too cold of a night to be out, walking about."

"I know Mary," she told the woman. She did not know if Mary really believed that she was simply out, taking a walk in the snow, or if she just chose to pretend it was so.

"I've boiled water, and filled the bath for you," she said as she picked up her cane and used it to lever herself to her feet.

Misara wanted to go and help her, but she knew that such a gesture would not be appreciated. Instead she said, "Thank you Mary."

Mary nodded, still smiling, and walked, using her cane only a little, towards the door. Misara took the heavy wool and leather cloak from where it hung by the door and held it out for Mary. The old woman let it slip around her shoulders and then pulled it tight around her. "You get some rest Lady Misara."

"I will."

Mary patted her gently on the arm, then pushed open the door and walked out.

Misara pushed the door closed behind her and then latched it. She removed her cloak and put in on the peg that Mary's cloak had recently occupied. She kicked off her boots, leaving them, as well as the dirt and blood on them, on the stone tile in front of the door. In socked feet she walked towards the fire, removing her long jacket, letting it fall to the floor. Under it was shirt of Elven chain, woven through with strips of silk to silence the already quiet links.

She undressed slowly. Some of her clothing she let carelessly fall. Other pieces, like the chain shirt, she carefully examined, and then put aside. Her sword she spent more time on, looking for any damage to the blade. Satisfied it was sound, she brushed a thin coat of oil on it and returned it to its sheath.

Finally she stood naked in front of the fire, letting the heat, light, and shadow play over her pale skin. Then she took the pot of boiling water from the fire and carried it into the bathing room.

Another of the features that showed the craftsmanship that had gone into the cabin was the bathing area. It was a small, walled-off space in the corner, floored with stone tile, a drain that allowed water to flow away drilled in the stone. A large barrel, its outside covered in wax, was the tub. She dumped the hot water into the barrel, letting it mix with the water that Mary had poured in earlier.

She splashed water from the tub onto herself and then used some soap and a small towel of Maztican cotton to clean up. Once clean she climbed into the barrel. The water rose over the rim and splashed onto the floor, eventually draining away. Arms across the barrel rim, cheek on her arms, she closed her eyes and let the warmth of the water ease the dull pain in her muscles.


	2. Beauty and Fae

**Chapter 2 - Beauty and Fae  
**by Shawn Hagen

While Greengrass was still a month away, the storm had blown off, and the sun was shining, reflecting off the snow in a blinding display of winter light. When one stood in the sun, shielded from the wind, it was actually pleasantly warm. Of course the shade still held the bitter cold of the winter.

Misara was dressed in a light blue silk dress, her fur lined cloak over her shoulders. She stood on a watch platform just inside the wall, eyes shaded against the light, her hair blowing free in the gentle but cool breeze. The cold did not touch the Tel'Quessir as it did the N'Tel'Quess, and she was quite comfortable in what she wore.

She looked down at Epcha, where he stood at the gates. He wore his arm in a sling. She suspected that the injury was bothering him, but he did not show it. She had taken him and six other young people out into the mountains two days before. They had had good or ill, luck, depending on who was asked, for they met a pair of foraging ogres.

The young ones had done well in the battle, killing both beasts with only a little aid from her. All had been hurt, the worse a young woman of seventeen who had broken her ankle, and several ribs.

She shifted her gaze back to the side of the mountain, enjoying the dazzling play of light off snow. So beautiful, and yet it could blind a person were they not careful.

Misara had tended all their wounds, calling upon the divine powers of Corellon Larethian to heal them, or at least treat them. She was grateful for the power. More than once her god had refused it to her when it came to healing the wounds of N'Tel'Quess.

Into such thoughts came the realization that she was looking at something. Movement on the path that led up to the village; a single rider on a white horse, climbing the switch backs. She looked around, but no one else seemed aware of the approaching visitor. She was not that surprised; her eyesight was much sharper than that of the humans.

Not saying anything, she left the tower, walking towards her house. It was no longer her part to tell these people what to do: To warn them of danger and plan for them. She would be there to help them, if they needed it, but it was time for her to trust them.

She pushed her door open, noticed immediately that Mary had been cooking once more. A small pot was warming on the side of the fire, the stew within bubbling gently. Protecting her hand with a cloth, she took the pot from the fire and set it on the stone mantle to cool. By the time she had washed her hands the stew was ready to eat.

There were bits of lamb with vegetables and chicken stock, as well as the subtle hints of spices. Spices. Expensive, rare, and Mary was using what little supply she likely had to improve Misara's meals. The people of Deep Cleft had so little, and they wanted to give her so much.

They were proud and would not appreciate her treating them as if they were beggars. So she ate the stew, and would compliment Mary on her cooking, as she always did.

The sounds of voices, muffled by the walls of the cabin, came to her. She recognized Epcha's voice, raised above the others. They had seen the rider, still some minutes away from the village; a little later than she would have preferred, but not terribly so.

There was activity outside, Epcha giving orders, people moving to defensive positions in case they were needed. Darvin would be out there, watching, ready to make a quiet suggestion if it was needed, but willing to let the young defenders learn their own lessons.

There was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she said.

"Lady Dawntide," Defan said, "Epcha says a rider is approaching."

"Just one?" she asked.

"That is all we can see." There was excitement in his voice. "Epcha has sent Woric and Zaram up the chimney with the field glass to make certain that it is only one."

"Very well," she told him. "It sounds as if you have things well in hand. Tell Epcha he can call me if he feels there is a need."

Defan smiled at the vote of confidence that she had given him and the others. He stood up straighter as he said, "We will." Then he closed her door, a little too hard really, but she could understand his excitement.

She sat back in her chair, listening to what was going on outside. She wanted to open the door a little and watch what was happening, but she did not. They needed to know that she trusted them.

She heard, clearly, the call for the rider to halt and be identified. She wondered how close they had let him or her get. Were Woric and Zaram focused on the rider at the gates, or were they trusting their companions to deal with that and instead looking everywhere else?

There were more shouts, but she could not make them out very well. Then the call to open the gate reached her. They were going to let the rider in. She stood, picked up her sword belt, and then girded it around her.

The time seemed to crawl by with no sounds of alarm raised outside. Perhaps a minute later there was a knock at her door.

"Come."

The door opened and Darvin stood at the threshold. "The rider is asking for you."

"For me?"

"She asks to speak with Lady Anor'Esira," he stumbled over the Elven word, "Holy Paladin Corellon Larethian."

"Well, that is I. Did she give a name?"

"Rowan Jassan, Paladin of Sune."

"I see." She removed her sword belt from around her waist. "Please, tell her that I would be pleased to see her." She put her weapon aside.

Darvin nodded, seeming to relax slightly. He turned and called to someone she could not see, "Lady Jassan, please, come."

Several seconds later Rowan Jassan stood in the doorway, helmet tucked under her arm, long cloak thrown back to reveal the armour she wore. Her skin was pale, where it was not chafed from the cold, her hair bright red and her eyes a green that was almost black. Surely this was a woman favoured by Sune.

"Please, enter and be welcome."

"Thank you Lady Anor'Esira," Rowan said, the slightest accent to her Elvish.

Misara could see the slight colouring of Darvin's unscarred cheek. Rowan had unknowingly insulted his poor ability with her language. Or perhaps it was not unknowing.

"If you will excuse me Lady," he said to Misara, giving her a half bow, and then left, closing the door.

Rowan removed her riding boots, and hung her cloak on a peg, the walked across the room to stand in front of Misara. She bowed. "I thank you for taking the time to see me Lady Misara."

Misara took note of her change in address. Still respectful, but more intimate now that no one else was around. "I would never refuse a request for someone who had travelled so far to see me. Please, sit and be comfortable. I have food if you are hungry, and some water, or wine if you wish."

"Thank you, but there is a message I must give you before I can take advantage of your generosity and your company Lady Misara."

"Then please, sit, and we will speak in comfort."

Rowan removed her weapon belt and placed it to the side before sitting. Misara watched her, took note of her fine armour, and the confident way with which she moved. The woman, while young, had been tested by her calling, and she had passed. That she was as she said, a Paladin of Sune, Misara had no doubt. There was no hiding the favour of Lady Firehair.

"I have come from Silverymoon," Rowan said. "I was sent to find you by Sir Domas Telbaker of the Church of Tyr."

"Domas?" Misara asked, feeling her heart beat faster. When Domas called her, it meant some great adventure or another. It had been years since he had last... It had been years. Twenty of them. Domas had been a man in his prime when she had last seen him. Two decades would have changed him, it was the way with the short-lived humans. He would be an older man, likely one with responsibilities to his church.

She did not see them riding off together on some great venture. "What does Domas want?"

"He needs help. There is a Dark Champion, a Black Guard, who roams the roads of the Silver Marches, and he has challenged a number of Holy Knights, including Paladins, Warrior Priests and Lay Warriors, to single combat. He has killed over thirty fine men and women, that we know of. Domas says that you can beat him."

"There is more to this than that. Domas could find someone else to handle such a threat I think. Tell me how this all began."

"I suppose it starts with Sir Telbaker. He had been living in Silverymoon, making it a base from which he sought out the evils of the North. When Lady Alustriel set about forming the Silver Marches he saw a great opportunity to strengthen the forces of good in the North."

Misara smiled and nodded. "He would."

"He requested permission from Lady Alustriel, as well as approaching the leaders of the other churches in the city, and with their blessings had a small keep built halfway between Silverymoon and Quaevarr.

"From there he installed forces that would be able to go where they were needed to help the good people of the Marches, to fight any evil that might raise up. They, we, are independent of any one city so we can travel where they were needed with no concern about leaving something undefended."

"But for the keep," Misara said.

"Green Stone Keep is not a defensive position. It has been left all but empty before, it will likely happen again. And while named a keep, it is more of a manor. No enemy to the Silver Marches that takes the Keep will find it a useful holding."

"I see." Misara had to admire Domas for his work. He had put together what was probably not an insignificant force, and he had done it in such a way to avoid making him seem like a threat to any of the people he was trying to protect. Perhaps he had listened to her all those years ago.

"The size of our force has grown significantly over the past few years. While there is of course a shrine to Tyr in the Keep, he did not dedicate the keep to the Just god. That made it easier for Paladins and Holy Warriors of Helm, Lathander, Mielikki, and of course Sune, to join with him. Together we work to stop any who would pervert the vision of Lady Alustriel and the others who wish to see the Silver Marches become a home for good, freedom loving people."

"Have you been successful?"

Rowan smiled, and lifted her shoulders. "Who is to say? We have done a great deal of good, but there is so much more to do. It will be future generations that will decide our success or not. All we can do is our best."

"Well spoken Rowan of Sune."

She smiled at the compliment. "It is something that Domas often says. He tell us that you taught it to him."

"Perhaps I did," Misara said thoughtfully.

"To continue, for a year now we have known that something is happening, an attempt made by someone to create something else of the Silver Marches. It could be the Zhents, or forces from Luskan, or agents from Shade, or the Drow, or the monsters to the North, or something completely different. We had just begun to turn our attention to this threat when the Dark Champion appeared and started to kill our people.

"Important missions failed. Our people are in a state of disarray. Many younger members ride out to find him, to take revenge for fallen comrades, only fall to his blade. By appearing suddenly as he does, and almost anywhere, he threatens all of our operations.

"That he challenges us to duels of honour, and wins by skill of arms and the support of whoever he calls his god, makes it difficult for us. He must be beaten fairly, or there are those of our orders who may begin to doubt our cause. That would be just as disastrous as his continued killing of us.

"It was a difficult situation, and we were not certain how to best deal with it, for there were many proposed solutions and where we were once united, we grew fractious. Then a priest of Corellon Larethian came from the temple at Silverymoon and told Domas that you were close by and could perhaps be called upon for aid.

"Domas was overjoyed to hear of this. Most of the others did not understand how one Elven Paladin could be of any assistance, but he was steadfast in his demand that someone be sent to find you. He would have come himself if the other leaders had not refused to allow him to endanger himself in such a manner."

"So you were sent instead?"

"I volunteered."

"Might I ask why? It seems that travelling on your own at a time like this would be inviting disaster."

Rowan smiled. "It was necessary to find you, and I trusted in Sune to protect me, and, the truth is I really wanted to meet you."

"Meet me?"

She nodded. "Domas is not the only person I have met who speaks highly of Misara Anor'Esira. My mentor, Seomon Westride, talked often of you."

"I can't believe that he had anything good to say." Seomen and she had never been on the best of terms.

"Well, he said that you were arrogant and obstinate, and certain that your way was the right way."

"That does sound about right." She smiled, remembering the many arguments from long ago.

"He also said that you were, much to his annoyance, usually right, very beautiful, and he called you a True Elven Paladin."

Misara felt her cheeks grow warm. "I'm wary of such comparisons, and calling me the true anything is not really correct."

"He did not think so, nor does Domas from what he says."

"No matter." She did not want to speak further of it. "Domas wants me to slay this Black Guard."

"He is certain that you can do it. And that you can find out who he is loyal to."

"I might, but, at the moment, I have sworn to protect this village."

Rowan frowned. "Surely you must see the importance in dealing with the threat the Dark Champion represents."

"I do. But I also see the importance in protecting this village. They are tied together. What is the value of defeating that one man if I let this village fall? The people here are part of the dream that Domas seeks to protect."

It was obvious that Rowan had no answer for that. Once or twice she looked as if she were about offer an argument, but instead said nothing, as if she realised the flaw in what she was going to say. In that manner she was smarter than Seomon.

Finally Misara took pity on the young woman and said, "I will talk to Darvin Fullerson and ask him what he thinks. It may be time that Deep Cleft stands on its own, but it will be his decision to make."

Rowan looked relieved. "Thank you Lady Misara."

"I would make a request of you, however."

"What is it?"

"Do not call me Anor'Esira. Call me Dawntide if you must. You shame Master Fullerson when you use a name that he cannot pronounce well."

She actually looked surprised. "I did not know. I meant no harm."

"Meaning no harm and causing no harm are two very different things. That is a lesson that I tried to teach both Seomon and Domas."

"You seem to have no compunctions about shaming me," she said, her voice tart.

"It was done on purpose, with the hopes of teaching an important lesson." Misara got to her feet. "There is a difference. I hope that you understand that."

"Is there really a difference?" Rowan countered.

"I believe so."

"Believing so and it being the truth are two very different things. That is something that both Seomon and Domas taught me. Can you claim that you know what the truth is?"

"I like to think that I have learned a few things in the many decades that I have seen pass."

"Wisdom is not only the purview of the aged, and those who have seen many years pass are often blind to the new." Rowan's tone was sharper than it had been, and her entire posture was challenging.

Misara thought about that, and what Rowan had said. "I think I owe you an apology Rowan. I am sorry for what I said. I should have known better."

"Making an error is forgivable," Rowan said. "Refusing to acknowledge it or make amends is the path of evil. Thank you for your apology."

"Thank you for making me realise that it was required."

* * *

It did not take long for Darvin to arrive. He removed his boots and moved close to the fire, but he would not sit, so Misara remained standing as well.

"An old friend has asked for my help," she told him. "I am not willing to leave Deep Cleft while I am still needed."

"I thought that might be it," he told her as he nodded. "To be truthful, I think this is a good thing. You should leave."

She was a little surprised by his words, and, perhaps, a little hurt. She did not show that. "Are you certain?"

He nodded again. "I know this may seem ungrateful after all you have done for us, but the truth is it is time for you to leave. You have dealt with our immediate problems. You have helped our children to become adults, maybe a little sooner than any of us would have liked, but it was necessary. We can protect ourselves again, and you have given us hope.

"If you stay, well, people might become dependent on you. This is the best time for you to leave. I am sorry to have to say that, but it is true. If you stay any longer..." he trailed off.

Misara smiled at him and reached out to place her hand on his shoulder. "You have no reason to be sorry Darvin." It was the first time she had called him by his first name. It was the first time it felt right. "You are right. Forgive me for forgetting how I was to truly help you."

He did not look embarrassed, and he nodded. "We will never forget you. And we can never repay you for everything you have done."

"You can repay me by living well, and making a good life for the people here."

"We will do that."

She laughed, and stepped back from him. "I expect to come back here in a few years and find that Inn I always hear you talking about."

"We'll sit at the table near the fireplace and I'll treat you to the best wine in the house."

"I'll hold you to that. Lady Jassan and myself will be leaving tomorrow."

"I'm sure some people will wish to speak with you before you leave." He looked at Rowan. "Lady Jassan, please, make yourself welcome. If there is anything you want, please just ask. Will you join us for a meal?"

Rowan looked at him, and then at Misara, then back to Darvin. "Thank you Goodman Fullerson, but I must regretfully turn down your offer. I am currently observing a set of holy days and my food is somewhat restricted. I have everything I need in my pack."

"Of course," he said, then took a step back. "Lady Dawntide, Lady Jassan, please excuse me."

After he had left Misara turned to look at her. "Holy days?"

Rowan smiled. "You reminded me of some things, and these people do not look as if they could spare the food they would use to feed me in any way that they would feel is proper."

Misara nodded. "That is very true."

"I suppose you've had to deal with that problem?"

She nodded. "I managed to talk them down to a place to stay and two meals a day, and at the time that I made that agreement they thought I was simply a sell sword, just as likely to run as to fight for them. When they finally realised that I was a Paladin they wanted to offer me so much more, but I held them to the word of our initial agreement."

Rowan laughed and leaned back in her chair. "I will enjoy a good night's sleep, in warm room, and in a comfortable bed."

"Would you like a bath as well?"

Rowan smiled widely. "Lady Misara, I would do terrible things for a bath at this moment."

"Just help me to boil some water."

* * *

The clear, sunny weather of the previous day was gone. Ocean grey clouds covered the sky, and the dry, cold wind slid its way through the smallest openings. It looked as if it might start snowing again.

In front of the main gates, in an open area that served as the village's common, Misara and Rowan prepared to leave. Rowan's packs were not as full as they had been when she arrived. Citing the need to travel quickly, she had left foodstuffs and a number of small, useful items in the village.

Misara was leaving behind more than that. Roathe, a small, Rashemi bred pony that had served her as a packhorse for almost five years, would stay. She had no doubt the sturdy little beast would enjoy her new life, which would include a warm stable to sleep in and the village children who absolutely adored her. And without Roathe's company she was conveniently forced to leave other items in Deep Cleft, including some extremely ugly but valuable gifts she acquired before coming to Deep Cleft.

Rowan's horse, Rose Thorn, stood near the gates, looking majestic, which Misara thought was half his purpose. The beautiful horse was obviously a Paladin's mount; no other horse could look so bred for beauty and yet survive a trek through the North in the winter.

Misara's own horse, Iron, was an ill-tempered looking creature with an uneven coat the colour of his namesake. A horse with the bloodlines of a Tuigan mount and some wild breed, he was a survivor. Blocky in appearance and all muscles, he was easily the ugliest horse that Misara had ever seen, let alone owned.

"Be careful Lady Dawntide," Darvin said to her. "Be careful, and may we meet again."

She had said all her goodbyes but this one, and she stepped back and bowed to him. "Sweet water and light laughter till next we meet Darvin."

She turned and walked over to Iron, grabbed him by his mane-she did not use a saddle or bridal-and pulled herself onto his broad back. The horse simply stood there, as if her weight, that of her armour and weapons, and the heavy saddlebags already draped across his shoulders, were nothing.

She directed Iron about with her knees and turned to look at Rowan. "Are you ready to ride."

Rowan was already on Rose Thorn. She smiled and nodded. "Of course."

"Then let's go."

Rose Thorn looked as if he wanted to run. He kicked at the snow-covered ground with his front hoof, and then started forward at a run. Iron simply started forward, moving at a quick walk, a pace he could maintain for hours in the deep snow.

She was hardly out of the gates when she heard "Misara, wait!" Turning, she spotted Epcha running towards her. He was carrying a bag, and wore a sword belt. She had been afraid of something like that happening.

With the gentle pressure of her knees she brought Iron to a stop and turned him so she could face Epcha.

He slid to a stop near her, almost falling. "Misara, please, take me with you. I want to be a Paladin. I want to go with you."

Some of the people watching were surprised by Epcha's declaration. Others seemed to have been expecting it. All were watching. Rowan had brought Rose Thorn back and was watching as well.

Misara looked down at the young man, trying to remember when she had simply seen him as a boy. "If that is truly your calling Epcha, you will make a fine Paladin. And I would be honoured to take you on as a squire, but," she looked around, "can you really afford to leave?"

Epcha said nothing for a moment. He looked away from her and at the village behind him. He turned back to her. "I want to come with you. I want to learn."

She smiled down at him. "I would welcome your company, but my need for you is much less than that of others. Tell me, could you really leave here and not regret it? Would it not be in your thoughts?"

He shook his head.

"You are young still Epcha. In a year or two when Deep Cleft no long needs you as desperately as it does now, when you can leave with a clear mind, then you can start on your journey. Until then, stay where you are needed. There are many valuable lessons for you to learn here yet."

He nodded, agreeing with her while at the same time he looked crestfallen. "Will you come back then?" he asked hopefully.

"Your calling will lead you where you need to go. I hope that means our paths will cross again."

Epcha said nothing to that. Darvin stepped forward to put an arm around Epcha's shoulders. "Fair Travels Ladies Paladin," Darvin called out.

Misara nodded to him, then turned Iron about and rode off, not looking back.

She rode down the trail for several minutes before Rowan rode up beside her.

"That young man loves you," she said.

"Do even the Paladins of Sune play matchmaker?"

"Of course. A fact I'm certain that you learned during your travels with Seomon."

"I do know Epcha thinks he loves me, but he is more in love with what I am. What he thinks I am."

"For someone his age those two things are not all that different."

"I know, but he will get over it. I hope his calling is true."

"Would you really take him on as a squire?"

"Yes. In a moment."

"How would you train him? Your ways could not be his."

"I know, but he would make a fine addition to the ranks of Tyr, or Lathander."

"He was a handsome enough lad, perhaps he might serve Sune."

"Does that mean in a year or two I might have to race you back here to see which of us claims him?" she asked with a grin.

"It might come down to that."

"Well, when the time comes, may the best woman win."

"I'm sure I will."

Misara laughed at that, and they continued to the ride down the path in a comfortable silence.

When they reached the bottom of the trail Misara noticed a large hand, sticking up from the snow.

"I might have missed this place were it not for that," Rowan told her.

"Yes, well," she looked up at the clouds, "it is not really needed any longer, and the snow should come soon, so..." Iron shifted to the side, then kicked at the frozen limb, driving it under the snow with a crack of bone.

"How many other bodies are under that snow?" Rowan asked her.

"In one respect, far too many. In another, not nearly enough." That said Misara turned Iron and then set off down the snow covered trail. Rowan and Rose Thorn were right behind.

* * *

It was hours later, after the sun had set, not that that meant much with the thick, falling snow, that the two Paladins stopped for the night. In a small gully, which offered some protection from the wind, they set up a simple shelter of a windbreak and a lean-to. After feeding the horses a mixture of grain and oats, they built a small fire and heated up some trail rations.

The fire had died down to coals, glowing dimly, by the time they had finished eating. Both women sat outside of that tiny light, facing away from it lest their night vision be compromised.

"Why were you in Deep Cleft?" Rowan asked.

"I was heading down from the mountains when I just found the village. I had only planned to stay a day or two, for a little rest, but I could tell they desperately needed help. There was nothing that required my immediate attention, so I stopped there." She said nothing for a few seconds, just stared out into the darkness. "It is an old story. They had a good iron mine, and an excellent place for a village. An orc band tried to take it away from them. They drove it off, but at the cost of almost half the village's population.

"When a group of bandits arrived, demanding food and anything else of value, the survivors chose to give it to them rather then risk another fight. That was four years prior, and since then two more bandit groups became involved in bleeding them dry. They were almost finished when I came along."

"So the bodies at the bottom of that path were bandits."

"Most of them. With the bandits gone, and the young people trained to fight, I think that they will survive. All they need is a chance to sell a full year's production, perhaps hire some guards and encourage a few more settlers. If they manage that, Deep Cleft will be well on its way to recovery."

"There are other little villages like that. The Silver Marches is full of frontiersmen and women who want to start a new life. We help them as we can. It is good that you are willing to help us defeat this Black Guard."

Domas might have saved everyone some trouble by simply sending out a group of hired fighters to kill this man as soon as the trouble started, Misara thought, but did not say aloud.

"What if I fail to defeat this man?"

"Domas does not think that will happen. I believe him." Her voice was full of confidence.

"Let us hope that his trust is not misplaced then," Misara told her. "Now, it's late, and the day has been long. I will take first watch. Get some rest. I will wake you later."


	3. Doubts of a Paladin

**Chapter 3 - Doubts of a Paladin**  
by Shawn Hagen

The trail was cold, but other than that it was an easy enough journey. There were a number of small villages along the way where they could stop and buy supplies; one or two even had small Inns.

Rowan reined Rose Thorn in as they came in site of Everlund's walls. "There is a certain danger here," she said, looking about.

"How so?" Misara asked. It had been nearly eight years since her path had last taken her to this part of the North; she tried to keep up with the news, but there was always so much happening.

"Giants have come into the Evermoors and can be a threat. The High Forest has also been growing and seems closer to the city every day."

"I see," Misara said, and looked around herself, wondering if giants did indeed think to travel so close to a city of Everlund's size.

She saw nothing and apparently neither did Rowan for she settled back into her saddle and started Rose Thorn forward. Misara remained where she was for a moment then reached down and patted Iron on the side. "A warm stable and a full belly for you tonight," she told her horse.

He nickered softly, and then set off after Rose Thorn. She leaned forward into his mane and closed her eyes, thinking about what Rowan had told her: Giants on one side and a growing forest on the other. Likely people in Everlund were starting to feel a little nervous. It was a place that might need some help. She would have to keep that in mind in her future plans.

Everlund was built on either side of the River Rauvin; a city encircled by high, thick, stone walls. While the area around the city had changed, the city itself was much like the last time she had passed that way. Moongleam tower, the keep of black stone, still rose up from a knoll near the centre of the city. They rode their horses towards the Mountain Gate, one of the fives gates.

It was still several hours until sunset, so the gate was still open, members of the city watch examining closely all those who entered. As the approached one of the guards moved forward, calling out, "Rowan, well met!"

"A friend of yours?" Misara asked as they rode closer.

"Amos Millerson, sergeant in the city watch," she said and smiled.

"I thought for certain that you would be gone longer," Amos said loudly as Rowan brought Rose Thorn to a stop near him.

"I managed to take care of things quicker than usual," Rowan told him. "Has anything of note happened recently?" She took several gold pieces from her belt pouch and handed them to Amos.

Amos shook his head. "Been quiet. A caravan coming over the snow had to run from some giants a few days ago. The High Captain sent a squad out to chase them back into the moors."

"Lot of caravans coming in before the melt makes the roads mud?"

"Some, more should be coming in soon."

"Think we can find a room in the city?"

"Depends on how much money you want to spend, doesn't it."

Rowan nodded, then shifted in her saddle. "Amos, this is Misara Anor'Esira, Paladin of Corellon Larethian."

"Lady Anor'Esira," he said, almost as well as Rowan-not surprising in a city where Elves made up a large portion of the population.

"Sergeant Millerson," she replied politely.

"I ask that you maintain the peace while in the city. Drawing a weapon within the city will result in your arrest, though as long as there was justified reason you will likely be released soon enough. I will not ask that you peacebond your weapon."

"Thank you sergeant. I understand."

He nodded, and then turned his attention back to Rowan. "Tomorrow night the Shaved Coin is holding a Talis tournament. There are a number of us who would like a chance to win some of our money back."

"Your money has already been donated to the Church of Sune where it will do more good than if I had left it in your pockets," she told him.

"You always have a lot of gold on you Rowan. We'll happily take someone else's money. And your luck at cards cannot hold you know."

She laughed. "Luck has nothing to do with it my friend, and if I am still in the city tomorrow night I will show you and the other gamblers that."

He nodded and smiled. "Then hopefully I'll see you tomorrow evening."

"Sune willing," Rowan said, and then set Rose Thorn into a walk.

Misara nodded politely to the watchman as she passed him by and entered into the city.

Everlund was quite beautiful, made of stone and timber, much of the architecture elven and dwarven in style. Wide, tree lined avenues ran from each of the five gates, to the centre of the city and Bell Market.

The street was busy, people of the city, humans, elves, dwarves, halflings and others, went about their business. The horses were kept to a slow walk. Misara looked about for a while, enjoying the cosmopolitan energy, before directing Iron closer to Rose Thorn.

"It sounds as if you are quite the gambler," she said to Rowan.

"I do not like to think of it as gambling since I usually win." She smiled at Misara. "And when I do lose, well, it is a good lesson to me. What about you?"

"I used to."

"Lost too many times?"

"Something like that."

"It is probably a good idea that you stopped then."

"I thought so."

"There is an inn nearby that I think you will like. It is quite unique."

"How so?"

"You'll see when we arrive."

"My interest is piqued."

Rowan seemed pleased by that.

They continued on, talking about things of minor importance, Misara sometimes mentioning a change in the city, Rowan pointing out new things of interest. They passed through Bell Market and turned onto the avenue that led towards the Silverymoon Gate and the almost immediately onto a side street that led to a small, tree covered knoll.

There was an inn there, the sign out front proclaiming it as The Maiden's Rest. It was a two-story building built of local stone and faced with white brick. There was a fenced garden behind it that looked, from what she could see of it, quite pleasant.

Rowan rode up to the front doors and swung off Rose Thorn. She began to remove her gear from him. Misara followed suite, removing her gear, pulling the saddlebags from around Iron's shoulders and throwing them over hers, being careful to balance the load of her heavy pack.

As they worked two girls, probably not much older than eleven or twelve, approached from the stables. Rowan handed her reigns to one of the girls. "Rub him down and if you have any winter apples around he'd dearly love them."

"Yes Lady," the girl said as she bowed.

Misara pulled a rope loop from one of the saddlebags and placed it around Iron's neck. The horse snorted and shook its head. She reached out and grabbed one of his ears to turn his head towards her. "No trouble, understand?"

Iron snorted again but settled down.

She handed the rope to the second girl. "If he gives you any trouble ignore him. If her gets sulky he'll do anything for attention."

"Yes Ma'am," the girl said, but her attention was on Iron, looking at him as if she had never seen such a thing.

"He's a horse," Misara offered.

"He doesn't look like any horse I have ever seen Ma'am."

"And you can thank the gods for that."

The girl nodded and led Iron off after Rose Thorn.

"Come on," Rowan said, starting up the steps towards the front doors.

The doors opened as they approached; a tall, middle-aged woman, wearing a well-tailored grey dress stepped forth to stand at the threshold. "Welcome back Rowan."

"Thank you Fiona. Do you have two rooms for some weary travellers?"

"Of course. Please, enter and be welcome."

The interior was made up of light coloured stone work and timber, brightly lit by lamps, some burning scented oils. Inside the front door was a tiled area, shelves by the door to hold footwear, shelves further in holding slippers.

Once they had removed their riding boots, and had a young maid take their cloaks and brush some dirt from their armour, they followed Fiona to a desk where another woman, wearing a dress almost the same as Fiona's, sat.

Rowan signed her name in a large, leather bound book, Misara did as well, noticing that the names that ran down the page were those of women. They paid for a night's stay, not the most expensive place that Misara had ever stayed, but not cheap by any means, and then they were given keys for their rooms.

Fiona led them up the stairs to the second level. Misara, looking around, said, "Everyone here is female."

"Yes," Fiona said. "All the guests, all the staff. The Maiden's Rest was established to offer women who are traveling a place to stay, away from men."

"And there is a lot of demand for that?"

"Of course. Many female adventures who travel with male companions enjoy the chance to socialise with other women, just as one example."

"Oh."

"I think many women feel safer in such a location," Rowan told her.

"That is true," Fiona said. "Here is your room." She stopped in front of a door. "There is a lady's maid, though you can dismiss her if you wish. The baths are always open, and you can arrange for various cosmetic services if you wish."

"Thank you," Misara said as she used the key to unlock the door.

Immediately she could see the room was well worth the price. She let her pack and the saddlebags fall to the floor and then walked across the room, past the large bed, to the window. The garden below was as beautiful as she thought it might be.

There was a nock at her door.

"Come," she called out.

The door opened and a young woman, dressed in grey dress, a white apron, and mobcap, entered. "Lady Anor'Esira, I am Millie.'" She curtsied. "Is there anything you want? Perhaps we could launder some of your clothing? We also patch holes and mend rips."

"Call me Misara, Lady Misara if you must. You can help me unpack first, then we'll see what needs attention. And I'll need an armour stand."

"Yes Misara," Millie said as she entered the room and closed the door behind her.

In short order Misara had separated her clothing into two piles. That which cold be cleaned and mended, and that which needed to be thrown out. Millie told her that there was store across from The Maiden's Rest where she might find new clothing. Misara dressed in a pair of breaches, a shirt, and leather doublet, and then she set off to do some shopping.

As Millie promised the store, Silk Threads, offered her everything she needed, from new underclothing, hose and stockings to a silk gown of a pale blue that went well with her eyes.

She returned to her room laden with her purchases, most of which were destined to be left behind in some small village or another, or perhaps lost or stolen on the trail. After packing everything away she went to bathe.

For a time she soaked in the hot water of a bath she could almost swim in. She then took advantage of the various cosmetic services that were offered. As she lay on a padded table, a tall, heavy woman, probably with some orc in her blood, massaged moisturizing oils into her skin as gnomish woman worked a thick cream into her hair. Misara decided that The Maiden's Rest would be the Inn she made her home any time she was in the city.

* * *

Rowan was sitting with a halfling woman when Misara came into the dining room. As she walked across the room she looked about at the other diners. There were several obvious merchants, a young woman with her maid, another young woman with and older woman who was probably her mother, and three women that Misara was not certain of, but guessed that they might be adventurers.

She took a seat beside Rowan, across form the halfling. "Good evening."

"Misara, this is Olpara Sweetharp."

"Call me Olpara," she said.

"Olpara, this is Misara Anor'Esira, also called Dawntide."

"You can call me Misara if you wish."

"Misara. Can I ask what the Dawntide means?"

"It's an old name, I'm not entirely certain of its origin. What about you? Where does Sweetharp come from"  
"Most people assume that I had an ancestor who was an excellent harper."

"That is what I assumed," Rowan said. "Is that the case?"

"You would think that, but the truth was the ancestor in questions baked cakes shaped like harps."

Rowan laughed. "Is that true?"

"Perhaps."

"Olpara is a member of a giant and troll hunting party," Rowan told Misara.

"A dangerous profession?" Misara asked.

"No, and yes, it depends on how stupid one is," Olpara told her.

"That is true with most things in life I have found."

"If it were just killing trolls and giants, well, it would be a fairly consistent way of making a living, but there is more to it. Some people who are running this city have decided that they would rather have the giants as allies rather than enemies."

"I suppose that makes sense, if you can trust a giant."

"If you can trust a giant. But I'm not sure how you can trust anything that big. People that big tend to think they are better than anyone else. Does funny things to their heads."

"Present company excepted?" Rowan asked.

"Of course not," Olpara said in a good-natured tone that made Rowan frown and Misara laugh.

"To continue, this idea requires us to talk to any intelligent looking giants and see if they would be willing to cut a deal with the city. The city would offer them a bounty for dead trolls, and then work it from there.

"Tried to make the deal three times now, and all three times it was turned down. Not a happy position to be in, pitching an idea to a giant and then having the big thing decide to squash you. Keeps the dwarves happy though. They love chopping down giants."

Misara reached for a bottle of wine. "You must tell us of your adventures," she said to Olpara as she filled her own glass. "More wine?"

"Please," the halfling said, pushing her glass towards Misara.

* * *

Several hours later, after a large meal, and a few bottles of wine, Olpara excused herself, and set off with a cheerful whistle and steady walk that belied the wine she had consumed.

"Now that is an interesting woman," Rowan said.

"She certainly in pleasant dinner company."

"Do you have any ideas what we should do next?"

Misara looked at Rowan through the bell of her wine glass. "Do you?"

"Not really. There were no messages for me. I think we should travel North to Silverymoon and then to Green Stone Keep and Domas, but other than that..." She raised her shoulders.

Misara put her wine glass down and reached for the bottle. "Where does he strike usually?" She filled her glass.

"Usually, well, he seems to often appear on major roads. He's been as far south as Olostin's Hold, as far north as Quaevar. He attacked a Paladin of Torm on the Silverymoon Pass, halfway between Silverymoon and Sundabar."

"So we are in his hunting grounds, as it were."

"Yes."

"He's attacked people on important missions, but not always?"

Rowan shook her head. "It seems he targets whoever he can intercept."

"Is he alone? Does he have any sort of backup?"

She shook her head. "It is only him."

"You are certain?"

She nodded emphatically. "There have been auguries cast. He works by himself, that much is certain."

Misara lifted her wine glass and drank. "How do you get messages?"

"They are sent to the Keep of Vigilance, a temple of Helm."

"Secure?"

"I believe so."

"We'll stay here tomorrow. You will go to that Talis game, but before that, stop off at the Keep of Vigilance. Leave the game early, and if anyone asks you why, tell them you have to be up with the sun the next day. Come dawn two days from now we'll will ride towards Silverymoon as if pursued by every dragon in Faerûn."

"And if we miss him?"

"We'll reach Silverymoon and then go on to the Keep of Green Stone. There we can seek the counsel of others on what to do next."

"It is a sound plan."

"I hope so." Misara put her half empty glass on the table and then stood. "If you'll excuse me, I think I will sit in the garden for a time."

"Good evening then, and sleep well."

"Thank you." She turned and walked away from the table.

* * *

The next day Rowan left early in the morning with Olpara, according to the note that Misara found pushed under her door. As she read the letter she wondered what the two women were up to. Rowan had not included that information.

She herself left not long after, stepping out of the Inn, wearing the silk gown she had picked up the day before and a new cloak that, while quite pretty, would never last a single day on the trail-not that she had bought it for that reason.

For a few hours she wandered around the city, stopping off in various stores, not buying anything, simply enjoying the experience. She ate breakfast in a small tavern with large windows that looked out onto the street. She had a cup of coffee, from Durpar beyond the Eastern Shaar, the proprietor assured her. It was a bitter and expensive drink. She turned down the offer of a second cup. Oddly enough, for sometime afterward, she felt on edge and seemed to be walking faster than usual.

A little after noon she entered the Starmeadow, a holy site dedicated to Corellon Larethian. She took a seat on a small bench, under a bare tree and simply listened to the sounds about her.

"May I join you?" she heard someone ask after some indeterminate time.

Misara looked up. Standing over her was an attractive elven woman with black hair and coppery skin, tinged with green.

"Of course High Priestess Amrallatha."

"Do you really wish to be so formal, Lady Anor'Esira, Lady Knight and Paladin."

"Point taken Yeshelné, please sit."

Yeshelné took a seat beside her and placed her hand on top of Misara's. "Tell me what concerns you."

Misara sighed and leaned back, staring up at the grey sky through the branches of the tree. "Do you ever doubt your calling?"

"Sometimes," Yeshelné said. "Not often, but I think anyone who serves their god as close as we do will have times of doubt."

Misara closed her eyes. She was not certain what to say.

"Tell me why you ask."

"What does it mean when your prayers go unanswered?"

"You mean what does it mean when the answer you receive is not the one you want." Her tone was hard.

Misara opened her eyes and turned her head to look at Yeshelné. "What?"

"It is childish to ask about unanswered prayers. You know that, or you should. Your true concern is that you have not always received what you wanted."

"Perhaps."

"There is no perhaps about this Misara. Tell me what has happened."

"There have been times, not recently, but they have happened, where prayers of healing have gone unanswered, or, I suppose when the answer was no."

"When you have tried to heal the N'Tel'Quess."

"Yes. It makes me think that I must be doing the wrong thing, that what he truly wants me to do is help only the Tel'Quessir." She crossed her arms over her knees, pulling her hand away from Yeshelné 's, and then placed her forehead on her arms. "I can't ignore the suffering of good creatures, whether they are of the People or not."

She felt the other woman place an arm across her shoulders and shift closer. "When you live so completely in the warmth and light of Corellon Larethian it always hurts when you feel as if it is no longer on you, even if for only a moment.

"I do not have an easy answer for you Misara. You enjoy, or perhaps suffer, a position that is unique."

"I know."

"You know, but do you understand it?"

Misara thought about the question for a time. "What is there to understand?"

"You never asked me these questions before."

"I never needed to. I never had such doubts, at least they did not plague me so."

"So I ask you, do you understand who and what you are?"

"I'm a Paladin of Corellon Larethian."

"You are. And yet you should not be."

"I don't understand."

"You follow two paths. Corellon Larethian has been very kind in allowing you to walk them both. Perhaps it is time that you chose one or the other."

Misara did not know how to answer that. "Why? Why can't I walk them both? I have done so for almost a hundred years." She straightened and turned to look into Yeshelné eyes.

Yeshelné smiled sadly. "Misara, you have been like the spoiled daughter of a loving father. He has given you much more than he gave anyone else, but you are growing up. You can't be the darling little girl forever. And he knows that. You need to learn that."

Misara frowned. "Do you know that for the truth Yeshelné?"

"No. But it is what I believe. And you came to me for counsel."

"I was hoping for something that would ease my concerns, not make them worse," Misara said, and she knew her tone was harsher than Yeshelné deserved.

Yeshelné only continued to smile. "You can't be the little girl forever."

Misara leaned forward again, folding up on herself. "What should I do?"

"Only you can make that decision. I can only offer advice." She got to her feet and pulled Misara to her feet. "Come, let us walk about the Starmeadow for a time. I will tell you of the changes happening in the city and you will tell me of your adventures since we last spoke. When the times comes, you will make the decision that you have to."

Misara allowed Yeshelné to lead her away but her mind was on a thousand different things.


	4. Challenge of the Black Guard

**Chapter 4 - Challenge of the Black Guard**  
by Shawn Hagen

Dawn was just beginning to colour the clear, cold sky. Silverymoon gate was closed, members of the Watch standing by, preparing to open it once the sun was truly risen.

Astride their horses Misara and Rowan sat, waiting with members of a small caravan who also planned to leave the city as soon as the gate was open.

"Did you win?" Misara asked Rowan. Asking Rowan about her luck at the game was far better than thinking about what Yeshelné had told her the day before.

"I did well enough. I have a reasonable sum to donate to the church when we arrive at Silverymoon." She smiled.

"And what of Olpara? She went with you."

"When I left she was in the process of either winning everything or loosing everything and did not seem overly concerned with which way it went. She trusts in Tymora."

"It is about fifty miles to Silverymoon along this road as I recall," Misara said, something of a non sequitur.

Rowan nodded.

"A day's travel, if we ride hard."

"It will certainly be noticed if we travel that fast."

"I know."

Rowan nodded and reached down to pat Rose Thorn's neck. "I think he would like the chance to stretch his legs and run. What about your Iron?"

Misara reached forward to scratch her horse between its ears. "He's normally lazy as a drunken orc, but he'll not let your pretty beast think it can outrun him."

The two Paladins met each other's gaze and both smiled, a silent challenge passing between them.

When the gates opened a few minutes later the two horses thundered from the city, charging up the road towards Silverymoon. They were certainly noticed.

* * *

The sun had reached its zenith and was moving slowly towards the west when Misara and Rowan spotted the rider on the road. Misara looked to Rowan. She nodded and then reined Rose Thorn in. Misara and Iron pulled ahead and were the first to approach the rider.

The horse was a tall, roan warhorse, covered in chain barding. His rider was tall as well, broad shouldered, outfitted in full plate that was lacquered a dark blue with gold trim. "Halt," he called, his voice, echoing from within his helmet, a rich baritone.

Misara brought Iron to a stop and faced off against the man. "Who are you to demand anything of me?" she replied impetuously. "I am a Paladin on business of Green Stone Keep and I shall not be interfered with by some brigand!"

"You shall, and not by some brigand." He put his hand to the hilt of a great sword that hung off his saddle. "If you are a knight of honour I challenge you to a duel to the death. I will not allow any Paladin free passage within this land."

Things were going very well, Misara thought as she let her body language convey a certain outrage. "Very well! I accept your challenge."

Rowan came up beside her, pulling Rose Thorn into a stop. The hoarse reared and shrieked, as if it was barely in control. "I will fight him Lady Anor'Esira. I cannot let you risk yourself. Go on ahead while I finish him!" she shouted as Rose Thorn shifted back and forth under her.

"Challenge has been made and accepted," the Black Guard said. "If you wish to fight me it will only be after she is dead by my blade." So saying he dismounted and pulled his sword free.

"I have nothing to fear from the likes of him," Misara said, with all the recklessness she had seen in many fool nobles that had died young. She slid off of Iron's back and drew her long sword. "I shall leave your corpse as a feast for the wolves," she told him, rising her sword. "I am Misara Anor'Esira, tell me who will fall to my blade today!"

"You may die in ignorance, as you lived. Know me as your death." He slapped his horse across the rump, sending it running a short distance down the road, out of the immediate combat area. He raised his sword in a salute.

Iron had already stepped away from her, so she lifted her blade in salute as well. He leapt forward and attacked even as she still held her weapon raised in respect.

The huge sword swung around rapidly, he handled it as if it was a blade half the size. Misara moved with an economy of motion, simply shifting the side and lifting her blade to catch and deflect his.

As they passed close he shifted his grip on the hilt, moving his left hand farther up. The move gave her warning of his next move and when he lashed out at her with his right hand she was prepared to counter. Driving her left forearm up, she blocked the blow-it felt as if a giant had hit her-then stepped back away from him and slashed out with her sword.

Moving back quickly, almost losing his balance, he avoided her blow and set himself up for his next attack.

They met, sword clashing on sword, Misara parrying his heavy and fast blows. He was incredibly strong. She never took the full force of the hits, angling her sword so most of the energy was turned harmlessly away.

They circled each other, he obviously watching for an opening, some way to break through her defences. She watched him, noting how he fought, watching for the tell tale signs that would let her know what he might do.

When he pulled a hidden dagger from the hilt of the sword she was ready, dropping her elbow onto his wrist, forcing him to drop the small blade. When he kicked the snow and dirt from the road at her, she simply spun, avoiding it, and used the momentum to launch into a series of moves that drove him back and sent him stumbling to the ground.

He came to his feet fast, almost as if he bounced, and they locked swords, standing corps-a-corps, pushing at each other. He was far stronger, but her balance was better.

"You will die," he told her, gasping.

"When your great, great grandfather was a mewling babe at his mother's breast I had passed all five challenges of the Sword-Master," she answered him.

She leapt back before he could force her back, keeping her balance, ready for the vicious series of swings he launched at her. She backed away, letting him fall into a rhythm, into a predictable pattern. When he did she ducked under his blade, stepped through his assault, and slashed across his side, cutting open his armour, the padding, and the flesh beneath.

Bellowing in anger, he swung about, sword raised above his head, moving with explosive speed.

Misara could feel the gathering of unholy energies about her. His sword seemed to glow with a malevolent light, and he was faster than he had been in the entire fight. Fully committed to his attack, holding nothing back, he swung the sword down at her. The blade whistled as it cut through the air.

She used the snow underfoot for extra speed, shifting quickly and smoothly to the side. The blade passed close by her, cutting her cloak, scraping against her armour, cutting a few links of the elven chain. The great sword slashed deep into the ground by her feet, causing dirt and pieces of broken rock to leap into the air, as if it from a geyser.

Before he could pull the weapon free she swung her sword about, imbuing the weapon with holy energy, and slammed her blade into the side of his. The tip imprisoned in the ground, the hilt held in his so strong grip, his blade flexed as much as it could, then snapped, shattering along the pressure ridge.

She continued with her attack, letting the tip of her sword snake up the remains of his weapon, disarming him. Shifting into a low stance she sent her blade up, under his helmet, pushing it into the underside of his chin, drawing blood.

He stood perfectly still. Slowly he began to raise his hands. Misara put a little more pressure on her blade. He stopped moving.

"Do you yield?" she asked.

"I yield," he answered. "You have beaten me fairly. I am your prisoner."

She took the blade away from his neck and stepped back as she straightened up. "Remove your armour and I shall take you to Silverymoon to be tried for your crimes."

"As you say." He reached up as if to remove his helmet. From wrist sheaths two, long daggers were propelled into his hands. He shifted into a combat stance, daggers leading as he came at her.

Misara did not meet him, she moved, flowing around his attack, behind him. There she sliced into the back of his knee, her sword parting the armour and leather, cutting tendons and ligaments.

She stepped close, watched as he fell, as he turned himself over and grabbed for his knee. Before he could heal the wound she knocked his helmet from his head and used the flat of her blade to drub him into senselessness.

He lay on the ground, unmoving, eyes closed, blood running from his nose and ears.

She drove her sword into the snow on roadway and then knelt down by his side. "Let's get his armour and gear off him. No telling what sort of magic he might have." She began to tug at his armour straps.

Rowan was soon by her side, helping her strip the man.

She could see, now that she had his helmet off, that he was an older man, not quite middle aged, as humans measured such things. A man at his best, she thought. Age had not begun to slow him down or cost him his strength, and he had learned how to fight, knew all the tricks-dirty and clean-had years of experience. Little wonder he had killed so many Paladins and other Holy Warriors.

"You were playing with him," Rowan said as she undid his breastplate and pulled it free. "You could have won that fight immediately."

"Yes. I probably could have." She reached down and pulled a pendant from around his neck. "He chose to fight one on one, with no backup of any sort. The road is flat and easy to fight on. There are no distractions. It was the best fight he could give me." She weighed the pendant in her hand before tucking it into her belt. "The fool."

"So why did you take so long to beat him?"

"I needed to learn a few things."

"What?"

"I'll explain shortly."

Finally they had him stripped down to his loincloth, and Misara took the time to examine that before she let it stay. She went to his horse-it tried to bite her so she slapped it hard enough that the beast was cowed-and looked through his saddlebags and pack. A short time later she came back with some pants and a warm cloak in which to dress him.

With some leather cord and some chain she bound his wrists and ankles. Then she healed him.

His eyes opened, and he struggled to get up, but his bonds held him immobile.

"As I said, we will take you to Silverymoon to be tried, but first you will answer some questions."

He scowled at her as he tried to sit up. "I will tell you nothing."

"You already have. I have beaten you and your mind was opened. You have no secrets from me."

"You lie."

"I know all about you." She leaned close to him. "You were born in the Dales, but the life of a farmer held no interest to you, so you left and travelled to Cormyr, to join their army."

She could see doubt in his eyes, and the beginning of what might be fear.

"A man like you, the Purple Dragons would have seen you for what you were, so you left them. You found kindred spirits amongst the Zhents. You became one of them. You were specially trained by," she paused, "by one of the Weapon Master Igroshi's apprentices."

He shook his head, as if to deny it.

"And while the Zhents still think you work for them, you have found another master."

"It does not matter what you know," he screamed. "You will never stop Asharass. You and your foolish Silver Marches will fall to her power! You will suffer for what you have done! I will see you dead, I will..."

Misara stuffed a rag into his open mouth and then used a band of cloth to hold it in place. "I think that is enough of that," she told him. Looking over at Rowan she said, "Let's get him on his horse. I don't think we'll make Silverymoon today."

"We can stop at one of the way stations and spend the evening there. Tomorrow, when we reach the city, we can hand him over."

Misara nodded as she grabbed him by his shoulder and pulled him to his feet. With Rowan's help she managed to get him on his horse and tied him to the saddle so he would not fall.  
She and Rowan mounted their own horses and soon left the site of the battle behind. The Black Guard's shattered sword lay where it had fallen, wan, winter sunlight glinting off the blade.

* * *

Misara came out of the way station's small cell, carrying and empty bowl and mug. "Our prisoner has eaten," she told Rowan as she put the tableware into a small barrel full of soapy water.

"Was he grateful for the meal?"

"Not really; quite rude in fact."

"Has he told you his name?"

"No." She took a seat at the table. One of the station attendants put a bowl of stew and a mug of mulled wine in front of her. "Thank you," she said to the young man.

"How is it you don't know his name? You knew everything else."

"Actually, I really do not know much about him. It was his fighting style that told me what I needed to know to convince him otherwise."

"You recognized his fighting style?"

"Styles, and yes. The basis of his sword work comes from the Dales. That basis was built upon and refined with techniques that are most often found in the Purple Dragons of Cormyr. It is the Zhentarim techniques that are the most important of component of his style."

"What about knowing that he had been trained by, what did you say, one of the apprentices of Ig something?"

"Igroshi. Very unique style, dirty fighting, not something he shared very often, but he's been dead for twenty years. I almost forgot that and tripped myself up. So our un-named blackguard most certainly was trained by one of Igroshi's apprentices."

"What about that last part? How did you know?"

"A guess. If it were not true, no real harm would have been done. I was lucky."

"Indeed. You are a gambler, and play for larger stakes than I."

"When necessary." She leaned back in her chair and drank from her cup. "And only when I'm certain I'll win."


	5. Knights and Tigers

**Chapter 5 - Knights and Tigers**  
by Shawn Hagen

Misara had been in Silverymoon for three days. After turning the Black Guard over to the city officials she had let Rowan handle anything else. As luck would have it she had met an old friend on the first day: Aelar Shaelon-an elf she had not seen in over forty years.

Together they enjoyed all that Silverymoon had to offer. Dressed in the finest clothes from the best of the city's tailors they attended an opera and two plays. They ate in the fine establishments, and visited the many shops. In the evenings they made love on silk sheets.

She was also quietly visiting with various sages and scholars, trying to find out about Asharass. The Conclave of Silverymoon, the city's college, possessed a great deal of knowledge, but no one she spoke with knew anything. Even those who worked in the Vault of Sages could tell her nothing.

On the third day Aelar kissed her gently on her forehead and then left. She lay in the bed, tangled in the sheets, and simply smiled. When they had met he had told her that he would not be long in the city, and she had not been concerned. It was a temporary arrangement, they had both known it and accepted it.

Later in the day she dressed and went out for a walk in the city, enjoying it in a different way than she had with Aelar. Silverymoon was a city for lovers, and yet it was also a city for those alone. In fact, the city was nearly perfect no matter what one's situation.

She spotted Domas before he saw her, though she almost did not recognize him. She took a seat on a stone bench in front of a small shop and waited for him. For a moment she thought he might walk by.

He did not.

"It has been a long time," he said, smiling.

Misara schooled her face to stillness, not letting her emotions show: A long time for him, not very long for her. She remembered Aelar, unchanged since they had last met. And Domas, who not even half as much time had passed, and she had almost not recognized him. And he said it was a long time.

She smiled as she stood. "It is good to see you again Domas. It has been too long."

"I was glad to learn you were in the area, for many reasons."

"You know I am always happy to help."

"Come. Let's find a place to sit down and have drink in comfort rather than standing on this breezy street." He offered his arm

"Lead on kind sir," she said with a smile, slipping her arm into his.

As they walked along the streets they talked of the changes in the North, the changes that had occurred in the last several years. She had felt it almost since arriving in Everlund. The Silver Marchers were balanced on the edge. They might become a peaceful, vibrant nation, or fall back into wilderness and barbarism.

Domas had thrown himself into it, obviously set on seeing the Silver Marches succeed. He had put a lot of himself in the attempt, of that she was certain, and he would not accept failure.

He finally led her into a building that, on the outside, was much like the many other buildings in Silverymoon. The interior took her by surprise. Outside it was made of bright stone, fashioned together skilfully. Inside it was rough looking wood, darker than she would have expected, decorated with simple furniture. It was a place she might find in a small village, not a city.

"What do you think?" he asked, smiling.

Getting over her initial surprise, she took more account of her surroundings. "It is a façade, isn't it?"

"Something like that," he told her as he directed her to a table. "It is like those small places we'd end up in after some adventure or another."

She sat, noting that while rough looking, the furniture was well made, with none of the small slivers or rough edges such pieces usually suffered from. "As I recall those places often offered bad beer, draughty rooms and fleas in the bedding."

He laughed and leaned back in the chair. "Well, this is as I recall those places as being." He lifted a hand to attract a waitress. "What do you want?"

"Do you think they will have Winter Wine?"

"They will have any wine you chose to name."

Misara thought she would challenge that, but decided to stay with her initial choice. Domas ordered a mug of stout ale, likely in memory of old times.

"I want to thank you for all the help you have given us," he said to her after their drinks had arrived.

"You know that I will always help you if needed Domas. I value your friendship highly."

"And I yours, even though you are still a woman of hedonistic tastes, unbecoming to a Paladin." He lifted his mug slightly, as if offering a toast.

His words seemed almost an accusation to her, though he knew he said them in pure jest. They cut a little too close to a recent wound, however. She tried to let anything show of her thoughts and smiled as she said, "Still interested in lecturing me?" She lifted her glass and tapped it against his.

"Someone has to," he told her. He lifted the mug to his mouth and took a long pull. When he lowered it foam covered his thick moustache. He blew up, sending foam flying, some if it coming to rest in his thick, bushy eyebrows.

Misara laughed and shook her head. "You are not currently presenting a very convincing argument."

Domas wiped the foam away, frowned at her theatrically, and then laughed. "This is far too much like old times."

"A little. I am very impressed with what you have accomplished here. It was what you always wanted, to lead a force of good men, to make a difference on a large scale."

"It is what I wanted and it was nothing like I thought it would be. I spend far too much time dealing with politics." He shook his head. "No matter where I send my men, someone else wants me to help them. The leaders of the Silvermarches want to know why I increase the numbers of Knights while members from all the tiny villages want to know why I do not have more warriors available to help them. And almost daily I have to deal with messages from the Argent Legion, suggesting that I allow them to make decisions for me, for the good of the region of course."

"I'm surprised they let you operate as you do. If the Argent Legion is supposed to be the Silver Marches' army, having an independent force of Knights might be considered to be something of an insult."

"I know," he told her, nodding. "And yet I feel that keeping the forces of the Green Stone Keep separate is for the best. There are many things happening in the Marches, and the Argent Legion cannot respond to them all.

"We have orcs in the mountains, giants on the Evermoors, thieves stealing from shines and temples, there is a threat of drow, the Black Guard who was attacking my people, an entire shipment of blessed, ceremonial oil goes missing, merchants complain about caravans waylaid, a spoiled noble from Waterdeep wants us to take his run-away fiancé from the elf she fell in love with, a clan of glaziers disappear somewhere between Waterdeep and Silverymoon, I have reports from the High Forest, there is..." He stopped and took a deep breath. "Well, you see how it is. Much of those things the Argent Legion can and does deal with, but there are many things that seem to fall on us. It is far more work than I ever thought it would be."

"It is the nature of such things. You knew that."

"I suppose I was hoping it would be different." He straightened up, gave his body a shake. "Enough of that. I am here to thank you for the help you have given us, and to present you with a small token of our appreciation." He reached into his cloak and produced a light-blue, silk sash and placed it in front of her. "Something from the Black Guards gear."

She picked up the sash, looking it over. "I do not recall him having something so beautiful."

"It was a leather belt, covered in iron studs when you last saw it. Its appearance was altered to something that I thought you might find more to your taste. You are a soft hedonist after all."

"I take it there was something special about that belt."

He nodded. "It gave him a great deal of strength, that of a giant."

"Little wonder he hit so hard, or that my arms hurt so much afterwards."

"The enchantment remains, though its appearance is different."

"Thank you for the gift. It is greatly appreciated."

"I know you will use it well."

"Has our Black Guard told you anything of value?"

Domas shook his head. "He has told us nothing. He does not even confirm what he already told you."

"Perhaps he realised that I tricked him."

"How certain are you of what you said?"

"As certain as I can be. His fighting style places him where I have said, and when he spoke he thought I knew all there was to know. Have you learned anything of Asharass?"

He shook his head. "To tell the truth, there are some that doubt you."

"I suppose I am a little disappointed, but not surprised. And you?"

"I don't doubt you, but it is not very much really. Most of those I have talked believe that he was working for the Zhents. Some think the name Asharass was simply offered to confuse us."

"Then why does he say nothing?"

"Because, as you obviously suspect, his loyalty and silence belong to Asharass."

"Are you going to deal with this?"

He shook his head. "The Zhentarim are the threat that we have to focus on. Retired Zhents have set up many little villages in the Silver Marches. The Free Towns they call themselves, and while they may be harmless, they may not, and we have to watch them."

"So you will ignore Asharass?"

"I will not ignore it, but until I have more information, I cannot spare the resources needed to properly investigate."

"What is going to happen the Black Guard," she asked, changing the subject.

"His crimes are still being decided. Those we know he killed he killed in duels. That said, that he is evil and dangerous is obvious. I would prefer to see him executed, but it is possible he will be imprisoned instead. Do you want to speak with him?"

She shook her head. "I will not be able to get anything more from him." She picked up her glass and drank all the wine. Placing the empty glass on the table she said, "I'm going to find out who this Asharass is."

"I thought you would. Where will you start looking?"

"I have asked the sages here, and they seem very competent. That they do not know the name tells me that Asharass is either very new, or very old. I know someone to the South who might be able to help me if Asharass is very old."

"Would you be willing to take Lady Jassan with you?"

"Does Rowan wish to travel with me?"

"She does, and I would feel better if I were to lend you some help in this. Were I able to spare them, I would send a larger force with you."

"You really cannot spare her either."

"Not really."

"I will try to return as soon as possible."

"I know you will. Find out what you can and bring us the information we need." He smiled as he picked up mug. "As usual, I am counting on you."

* * *

Glowing bright, the red ember on the end of the cigar traced out a line of light as the smoker took it from his mouth, waved his hand to the side, and blew a cloud of smoke out into the air. He was tall, and thin, with long, unkempt red hair. He wore nothing but a ragged loincloth, seemingly untouched by the cold air.

A gangly form dropped down in front of him, appearing all arms and legs, dressed in bright coloured rags. He hung by his knees from the lower branches.

"Why do you burn and breathe such smelly leaves?" he asked.

"Because, I enjoy the taste dear Ippla."

The younger man made a face. "How can you like that? Even the bugs don't like it."

"Which is just a side benefit come the summer. Shouldn't you be on guard duty?"

Ippla growled softly. "Seems that you don't do as much guard duty Liman."

Liman took another draw off his cigar, and then blew a cloud of smoke into Ippla's face.

Ippla coughed and dropped from the tree, landing on the ground on his feet and hands. He growled deep in his throat, barring his teeth.

Liman leaned forward, putting his face close to Ippla's. He barred his teeth as well and half said, half growled, "You're not thinking of doing something foolish, are you?"

For a moment Ippla did not move, but then he shifted back, dropping to his belly on the ground, tucking his chin against his chest to expose the back of his neck. "Sorry," his voice nearly a squeak.

"You're forgiven. Now, why aren't you on guard?"

"Siishi spotted the Oil and Steel man."

Liman straightened, leaping to his feet. "Where?"

"By the deep pool. He was walking towards the old camp." Ippla shifted into a crouch, looking up at Liman.

"He's looking for us."

"Siishi is watching him. Told me to tell you."

Liman threw his cigar away, then dove down, rolling in the dirt and old leaf fall, picking up the scents of the forest, leaving behind the smell of tobacco. He sprung back to his feet and grabbed a bow and quiver from nearby. "Come on," he said to Ippla. Then he leapt up into the tree, climbing quickly into the canopy.

Together Liman and Ippla moved through the thick, interwoven branches of the forest, moving faster than they would have on the ground. Liman stopped every few moments to sniff at the air before continuing on.

He was not surprised that Siishi spotted him before he saw her. He was about to jump onto another tree when he heard a low hiss right above him. He looked up, finding himself looking up into the golden eyes of Siishi: Small, thin, elven, with long white hair that was her only covering.

She shifted her eyes to the left, now silent. He looked and saw the dark form of the person they called the Oil and Steel man, moving down a path that would lead him to the camp they had abandoned several months ago.

"We should kill him," Ippla said in a whisper.

He looked at Ippla, considering the suggestion. Killing the Oil and Steel man would be the best course; it would solve a great deal of problems.

It was Siishi who voiced his concern. "And what if we fail?"

"Then we flee. Let him wander the words forever. He'll never find us." Ippla had shifted along the branch to better see the Oil and Steel man. The branch bent dangerously under his weight, but he was apparently unaware, or unconcerned, of the danger.

"He will find us," Liman said. "I am certain of that. No, I'll talk to him."

Ippla cursed softly. Siishi said nothing.

"Stay here," Liman told the other two, then he moved off, leaping to another tree, moving silently as he followed the Oil and Steel man. He passed over the intruder into the forest, then leapt into the air, flipped, twisted and landed directly in front of the Oil and Steel man. He had his bow ready, an arrow nocked.

"What is your business here?" he demanded.

While his voice was even, Liman was not. The large figure in armour so black it seemed to drink up the light around it did not seem surprised, did not smell of fear. All he smelt of was the oil and steel that had named him to Liman and the others. Every time he spoke to him Liman felt as if he should go to his belly and expose his neck to the man. It was not a feeling he enjoyed.

"I have need of you," the Oil and Steel man said, his voice deep and echoing.

"You always have need of us," Liman said, though it was not entirely true.

"I need you to kill an eleven Paladin. She is called Misara Anor'Esira, also Dawntide. You might find her in Silverymoon, if you travel fast enough."

"I do not like Paladins," Liman said. "They resist the Wild's blessing, and are strong with their faith."

"You will kill her," he repeated again, making it obvious that Liman's concerns meant nothing to him.

Liman wondered if he and the others could kill the Oil and Steel man. They might very well not survive the attempt, and there was another way to deal with him, he realised. "This is the last. We do this and you never come to us again. All debts paid, all connections severed."

"You wish to end our relationship," the Oil and Steel man said, something like surprise in that echoing voice of his.

That confused Liman a little. He never recalled anything surprising the Oil and Steel man, and for a moment he thought he caught some scent under the oil and steel. He wondered if he was making the right choice, but decided it was too late to change his mind.

"This is the last," he said. "No more after this. You forget about us after we kill the Paladin."

The Oil and Steel man nodded. "As you say."

Liman stood, lowering his bow. "Do you need proof of the Paladin's death?"

"There is no need. I will know once she is dead."

Liman nodded and stepped back. He said nothing else.

The Oil and Steel man turned and began to walk back the way he came. The darkness under the canopy swallowed him up, and more disturbing to Liman, it swallowed up his scent as well.

A few seconds later Ippla dropped down to the forest floor. "Are we going to do it?"

Liman looked at the smaller man and nodded. "We will do as he asked. This is the last time. I would do much more than kill some Paladin for freedom from him."

"He was surprised when you asked for that," Siishi's voice drifted from above.

Liman nodded. "I know." He would not show doubt in front of the other two. "It is not something to concern us." He started walking down the path. "Gather what you need. We have a hunt to start!"


	6. Into the Evermoors

**Chapter 6 - Into the Evermoors**  
by Shawn Hagen

Misara and Rowan had left Silverymoon before the sun had risen, with only Domas to see them off. He had given them the blessing of Tyr as they had ridden out.

They rode fast, but did not push their horses. They planned to reach Everlund by the end of the day, but were not concerned about getting to the city before the sun set. If the gates were closed they would just spend the night in one of the many inns that surrounded the city.

During a time when they walked their horses to rest them Rowan asked, "Can I ask you where we are going?"

"Excuse me?" Misara asked; her thoughts had been elsewhere.

"Where are we going? You've only said that we would be travelling south. Are we going to Waterdeep?"

"We might, eventually, but my first destination is the High Forest. A friend of mine lives there, and she is very well read. It is my hope that she will be able to tell us of Asharass."

Rowan nodded, accepting the answer.

"If she can't help me then we will go to Waterdeep. And if there is no answer to be found there..." Misara raised her shoulders.

"We could travel to Neverwinter."

Misara nodded. "That is certainly a possibility."

"Of course traveling from city to city, hoping to find someone who knows something will waste a great deal of time."

Misara looked over at Rowan. Rowan looked back, a slight smile on her face. "I will admit, if Vilis does not know the answer I will be at a loss as to what to try next, but that is really no reason to mock me."

"Vilis is the sage you seek in the High Forest?"

"Yes."

"Do you think that she will know?"

"I can't say for certain of course, but if she cannot provide answers then she will at least be able to tell me where I may find them."

"I hope we find the answers quickly." Rowan turned and looked back over her shoulder. "I feel that the fate of the Silver Marches might rest upon this."

"It must be Third-Day," Misara said.

"What?"

"Just a private joke." She vaulted up onto Iron's back. "It's time to ride." She urged her horse forward.

Rowan stood where she was a moment, then put her foot into the stirrup and pulled herself onto Rose Thorn's back. She flicked the reigns and the stallion leapt forward, chasing after Iron.

* * *

The gates had closed when they reached Everlund so they took rooms in an Inn near the gate. As soon as the city opened they would cross through it, and over the river. The City-Gate-the Inn's name-offered comfortable, if small, rooms, decent food, and a good stable. 

After putting her things into the room she rented Misara went down to the common room to have some dinner, a little wine, and to listen to the Inn's harper. She did not know if he was a true bard, but he played well enough.

Rowan left, telling Misara she wanted to see if Olpara was in town.

The common room grew a little more crowded as the hours passed. Misara, feeling comfortable in her seat, remained where she was, listening to the music, the conversation, and watching the people.

The harper took up a faster tune. A man with a tin whistle joined him as well as a dwarf with a drum. Tables were pushed back and people began to dance.

"Fair maid," a young man stepped in front of her. "Might I ask for this dance?" He held his handout towards her.

He was handsome enough, though he had bad teeth, and he was obviously a little drunk. She smiled and let him help her from his seat. As she stood she picked up her sword and hooked it on her belt.

She had been wearing a simple dress, wanting to take advantage of any time where she might go without armour-she suspected such times would be rare in her near future. She watched the young man take note of the sword at her side; it was like watching his mind working. The pretty young elf he had thought to dance with was more than he thought. He was likely rethinking his plan.

Misara did not give him time. She gave him a pull, unsteady as he was he had to follow or fall. She moved onto the dance floor, released his hand, and then spun to face him, being careful her sword did not swat anyone. The tune was quick, an old reel that she had heard a hundred times before, with a hundred different names. It was easy to dance to and she fell into the familiar steps readily.

Her partner gave into the moment and together they danced with all the others.

She was on her third dance when she saw Rowan pushing through the people, her armoured form forcing a way where others might have had to go around. "Olpara, she's in trouble," Rowan called out loudly.

Misara left her dance partner to take Rowan's arm and lead her out of the crowd, to a corner where it was quieter. "What kind of trouble?"

"She left the city four days ago with her company. The scout and one of the Dwarven fighters returned the day before, badly wounded. They said the others were attacked, probably captured by giants."

Rowan was worried, that much was obvious, but she was in control of her emotions. Misara nodded. "Do you think they still live?"

"I don't know. The scout, his name is Granson Merfan, I heard he is trying to find some help to rescue them if the are alive."

"And avenge them if they are not?"

"Maybe, I only heard this second hand."

"We can help him," Misara told her.

"But we don't have the time," Rowan said.

Misara understood the anxiety she had sensed from the other woman. She wanted to help a friend, and yet she did not want to put off their mission, their quest. "You should never get so focused on the end goal that you ignore the smaller things that happen around you. Many a good person has ended up doing great evil because of that. We can spare a day, perhaps two, to look into this. If necessary we can make up the time later."

"What if we can't?" There was fear in Rowan's eyes, a fear that Misara understood all too well.

"Trust in Sune Rowan Jassan, as I will trust in Corellon Larethian. It is what we do."

Rowan nodded, the anxiety and fear in her eyes fading.

"Where can we find Goodman Merfan?"

"He's in the city."

"Then tomorrow when the gates open we will go and speak with him."

* * *

Misara had travelled within the Evermoors before. Hunting trolls in the region of bogs and hills and the long areas of open land had given her a chance to sharpen her skills when she had been younger and first in Faerûn. It had not changed in the many years since she had last trekked across it. 

The snow made footing more dangerous, there was always the possibility of a deep hole hidden under a thin sheet of ice. It was why they had left their horses behind and were pursuing the giants on foot.

She would not have given much for their chances of finding their quarry, but for Granson's insistence that the giants would remain close to where they had last been seen. She suspected that he was not as certain as he appeared, but desperately wanted to believe.

They had been on the moors for six hours, moving quickly, stopping only when Granson had to search out the trail. She could see that the fast pace was wearing on the man, who had only recently been healed of grievous injuries. He did not ask that they slow their pace.

There were only five of them on the moors: Granson, Misara and Rowan, along with Krall Hammertoe, the Dwarf from Olpara's group, and Red Esquima, a young sell-sword who had volunteered to help them.

Misara would have preferred a few more, they were tracking five frost giants, by Granson's estimate, but there had not been time to put together a larger group.

They had already been to the site where Granson and Krall had last seen their companions. That had been two hours earlier and Granson claimed they were getting close.

"What do you think we'll do when we find them?" Red asked.

"We'll kill 'em, that's what!" Krall said, and there was a thump as he drove his hammer into the ground.

"We'll be massacred if we fight," Rowan told Krall.

"If you're fraid to fight, why'd ya even bother coming?" he demanded.

"We can save lives without fighting," she told him, not rising to the insult.

Krall snorted.

Misara had been staring out over the moors, considering their options. Krall might be right; it could come down to fighting. She did not think they would do well in a battle, she was certain that they would lose lives, but sometimes one had no choice.

"I've found their trail," Granson said.

Krall got to his feet. "Let's go!"

Misara turned to follow, as she did so Rowan moved up beside her. "If we fight, we'll lose." She was echoing Misara's thoughts.

"Possibly. We do not know if there will even be a fight. Leave predicting the future to the sages."

"I suppose you're right. I'm worried however."

"You have good reason."

"That is not really helping."

Misara smiled. "If you don't want the truth, don't ask a Paladin."

"Hurry up!" Krall called, far too loudly. Granson had started jogging and Krall had followed. They were moving ahead.

"The hunt is on," Misara said as she started running in a light-footed glide that took her quickly across the snow.

* * *

He screamed, screamed and screamed and screamed until it did not seem like he could scream any longer, and yet he did. The giant, an ivory skinned, hulking brute, nearly sixteen feet tall, held the man's left arm in between two fingers and a thumb, twisting it, causing broken bones to grind together under the torn skin. 

Finally the giant stopped and the man collapsed onto to the ground, retching and sobbing in pain.

"Tell me about the city," the giant said on common.

The man did not answer, likely could not answer.

The giant reached down towards the man again, but another of the giants, a slightly shorter, but much cleaner male, stopped him. He said something in the giant tongue. The first giant growled, but left the crying man alone.

"What'd he say?" Krall demanded, his voice too loud.

"I think he said that if he killed him then they would get no answers, but my giant is rather poor," Misara told him. "And keep your voice down."

Krall spat, but his tone was softer when he next spoke. "That's Midan," he said, obviously meaning the man who had been tortured. "Our wizard, soft, lazy man." He shook his head. "Can't believe he's still living after all that."

"I'm not certain how much longer he will be alive." She shifted around, trying to get a better look into the campsite.

There was no fire burning in the camp, not that the giants needed one. A few lanterns provided enough light for them to see, more than enough light for Misara. Five giants, three laid out, likely asleep, two awake: The one that was torturing Midan, and the one that was probably the leader.

There was Midan, still sobbing, and she could just make out another form, lying on the edge of the light. Perhaps there were others, but she could not see them from her vantage point.

"We've sat here long enough," Krall said as he started forward.

Misara reached out and grabbed him, easily pulling him back. "We don't do a thing until the others are in position."

"All this sneaking around, one of them giants is going to hear something and then the chance for surprise will be gone."

"They will only hear something if you do not keep it quiet. Now wait."

He frowned, but knelt down. "Just wait. You're plan'll cock up, and then it'll be down to fighting without no surprise."

"We'll see," she told him. Krall was anxious for a fight, perhaps he had something to prove, but she knew he was right in some respects. The longer they waited the more likely that something would go wrong. She picked up her bow and quickly strung it. Rowan and the others should be in position.

She reached around to her side, fingers brushing lightly across the fletching of her arrows. She stopped when she felt the fletching of the one she wanted. She nocked the arrow and drew back, amazed at the ease at which she did so. The bow had been built for her strength, and always before she had felt that in the draw. Not now.

Holding the bow steady, she shifted up, silhouetting herself on top of the small hill. All the giants would have to do was look to see her. The big giant, the one that had been torturing Midan was now approaching the form that lay unmoving on the edge of the lantern light.

Altering the angle of the bow ever so slightly she released the arrow. It sped through the air, the fletching making a soft whistling sound. Then the bodkin point punched into the thick muscle of the giant's neck, piercing deep.

The giant screamed in pain, grasping for the arrow. It was possible that the wound was a mortal one; the arrow might have severed the large artery in the neck. It did not matter however for a moment later the arrowhead exploded, decapitating the giant. His body fell back, crashing over one of the lanterns.

"Now that is the way to do it!" Krall yelled, standing up and hurling a throwing axe at one of the giants.

Chaos had taken hold of the camp. The explosion, Krall's shout, the fact that the oil from the broken lantern had set the dead body of the giant on fire, it all meant that the remaining four were, for the moment, too surprised to act.

As Krall hurled another axe Misara put another arrow to string. It was just a normal arrow, but it plunged deeply into the leaders arm.

The confusion could not last for long, and the leader pulled the arrow from his arm as if it were just a thorn and screamed something in his own language, pointing to the hill where she and Krall stood.

Calmly she unstrung her bow, even as the giants charged. She slid it into the rig on her back and then drew her sword. "Get ready to run," she called to Krall over the sound of the giants' war cries.

Krall hurled another axe, and then reached for his hammer. "I don't like leaving high ground!"

"Trust me."

He scowled, but nodded.

As the giants began to climb Misara turned and jumped down the hill, sliding on the snow and grass. The slippery slope gave her and Krall a speedy way down at the same time it was slowing the giants. Krall had been right, they were giving up a huge advantage by leaving the top of the hill, but Misara wanted to be certain no giant was close to the camp when Rowan and the others went in to rescue those captured.

She and Krall ran across the uneven ground, listening to the sound of the giants behind them. Fortunately the huge creatures were not throwing anything. All she and Krall had to do was stay ahead of them. They were aided in that by the terrain. Pools of water had frozen over and the water had drained away beneath. The sheets of ice were strong enough to support Krall and herself-though at times they crackled alarmingly-but broke under the weight of the giants.

For several minutes they managed to stay ahead of them, but their lead had shrunk. When she heard the nearby sound of ice cracking she stopped and spun. They would have to fight, to at least slow them down, and the time was nearly perfect.

One of the giants was sprawled out on the ground, he being the one who had just broken through the ice. The other three were strung out behind them, the leader just closing on them.

Misara drew her sword and stepped forward. Krall had jumped forward and savagely driven his hammer into the skull of the fallen giant. The thump, while sounding painful, did not have the crack to suggest any bones had been broken. It was likely Krall had just made the fallen giant that much angrier.

As the leader of the giants charged her she prepared to meet him. He held a battleaxe, sized to him. The huge weapon was almost the same size as Misara, and he swung it back forth with obvious proficiency.

As the blade swung towards her she lifted her sword, catching the axe blade and redirecting it so it whistled by just above her shoulder. She had expected to be pushed down by the deflected blow, to feel the sting in her arms, but she easily maintained her balance, easily pushing the blade away.

It was the sash. It gave her the strength to match the giant, to easily meet it with equal force. For a moment she considered it, heady with the power. However, she did not try to match it blow for blow. Her sword would likely shatter were she to put such stresses on it, and it would be a mistake to change her fighting style because of a magical sash she might lose one day.

Again she deflected the giant's attack and then moved in, swinging her blade against the giant's hip. The chain links of his armour parted under blow, and the edge sliced deeper as she pulled it across the wound, opening flesh and muscle right to the bone.

The giant screamed and fell back, hands pressing against the wound to stem the blood flow. Another of the giants was approaching, but she spared a moment to look to where Krall was battling.

The fallen giant had regained its feet, but it seemed unsteady. Perhaps Krall's earlier blow had done more than she had thought. Krall ducked under a huge, iron shod staff and delivered an over hand hammer blow to the giant's knee.

She turned away, the crack of bone loud in her ears, and readied herself to face the next giant.

Carrying a pair of human sized great swords, the giant leapt forward, using its much longer reach to drive her back. Misara was forced to retreat, unable to close with the giant. She had fought against the twin sword style before, a difficult style to break through, even when one's opponent did not have such a huge advantage in reach and size.

Finally she found the opening she sought. Diving forward, neatly avoiding one of the swords, she tucked into a roll and came up between the giant's legs. Stabbing up, the tip of her blade skittered across an armoured codpiece, and then punched through an area of weaker armour, sinking deep into flesh.

It was hardly an honourable blow, she thought as she rolled away, but combat in general tended to be much less honourable than many supposed.

Getting to her feet she surveyed the battlefield. Her two opponents were out of the fight, for the moment at least. The giant that Krall had been fighting earlier was laying on the ground, holding what was likely a shattered knee. The last giant was charging Krall, a huge maul in its hands.

Krall looked as if he planned to dart under the giant, a Dwarven tactic against larger enemies, one that usually worked well for the dwarf warriors. The giant either got lucky or was expecting it, for the maul swung down and slammed into Krall, lifting him into the air and sending him flying.

Misara drove her sword point first into the ground, then freed her bow and strung it with the speed and certainty of over a century of practice. Choosing an arrow by feel, she nocked, drew, and fired in one smooth move. The arrow flew true, driving into the giant's chest.

The giant seemed to hardly notice, until he began to burn, the flames spreading out from the arrow. He screamed and dropped his weapon, his hand beating at the flames in an attempt to extinguish them.

The fire would not last long, and she doubted that it would cause a great deal of harm to the giant, but for the moment it had his attention. She snatched up her sword and slid it into its sheath even as she ran across the uneven ground to where Krall had fallen. She expected to find the dwarf dead, but as she got closer she heard him moan.

As soon as she stood over him she could see how he had survived. The heavy wooden shaft of his hammer was broken, and he held the two parts of the weapon across his chest, right where the maul had hit.

"You dwarf, are far luckier than you deserve," she said as she knelt beside him. "Can you get up? Are you even conscious?" She leaned in close.

He opened his eyes, neither of which seemed to want to focus on her. "I can get up. Take more than a little blow like that to lay out a dwarf." He tried to sit up, then fell back, coughing. There was blood on his lips.

She placed her hand against the skin of his bearded cheek, letting healing power flow into him. His eyes cleared and he sat up, shaking off her hand. "Let's get those giants," he said.

Misara stood and pulled him to his feet. "Not tonight. We killed one and hurt the rest. That will have to be enough."

He looked as if he was going to argue, then seemed to notice that his hammer was broken. "They broke my hammer!"

"You're lucky they did not break you. Now let's leave while we can."

Krall looked back at the giants. He scowled and then spat, blood and saliva. "I'll be back," he said. Misara knew he was not saying it to her.

Leaving the wounded giants behind them the two moved away from the battle site. Misara listened for the sound of pursuit, but it never came. She suspected that the giants had had enough of a fight for that evening. Perhaps one or two might not recover from their wounds, but she did not think that likely. Giants were made of stern stuff, and it was hard to cripple them.

They took a circuitous route to the meeting place, doubling back to make certain that they were not being followed. She noticed that Krall was breathing heavily and coughing softly, but he was keeping up.

The others, Rowan, Granson and Red, were waiting in a sheltered hollow, the rescued survivors with them. Likely Misara could have been on top of them before they knew anyone was about, but Krall, not particularly quiet at the best of times-at least as far as she was concerned-was loud enough to herald their arrival.

Rowan relaxed as she identified them, and moved back from the narrow opening that led into the shelter. Misara let Krall enter first, then, after looking about, making certain they were alone, she followed.

The shelter was very warm, a pair of charcoal braziers were burning, the soft red glow not likely to give them away, but the warmth welcome. She could see that Rowan and the others had accomplished their mission without any difficulty. Red even had a large bag beside him that Misara was certain contained loot. She did not fault him, as she had been young once.

Midan was there, looking better than he had in the giant's camp. His arm was secured with splints and a sling and he was leaning close to the brazier, appearing desperate for the heat.

Olpara was wrapped in a blanket, her skin pale, only the slight raise and fall of her chest indicating that she still lived. Rowan was kneeling near her, grinding something with a small mortar and pestle.

There was a tall man as well who had the looks of the northern barbarians. He sat away from the others.

"How did it go?" Misara asked as she knelt down near Rowan.

"Good," she said, not looking away from her work. "The giants went after you and we moved in once they were out of sight and grabbed Olpara, Midan and Ockal. It all went exactly as planned."

She nodded and looked around at the others. "You've healed them?"

"As much as I could."

Misara got to her feet, pulling at a mithral chain around her neck, drawing forth a silver and gold crescent moon. She walked over to Krall and knelt down beside him.

"What are ya doing?" he demanded.

"Seeing if the god of elves will let me help a thick headed and ugly dwarf," she told him. "Now shut up and let me pray."

Krall said nothing as Misara softly chanted the elven words that called upon Corellon Larethian's power. She felt the healing energy flow from her to Krall, for a glorious moment she was a conduit between the material and the divine.

She moved away from Krall, who was looking better, and took a seat near Midan. The mage, his clothing stained and ripped, shied away for her. The strain of the ordeal he had been under showed clear on his face. She knew that, deep down, he expected that she was going to hurt him. Even as she left his side, his broken arm nearly whole again and all his other wounds gone, he still thought she might cause him pain.

There were wounds that she could do nothing about.

Ockal held up his hand when she neared him. She could see that there was a burn mark across his palm, like a brand. There were other such marks on him as well. "Save your healing for Olpara," he told her, his voice surprisingly soft for such a large man. "She needs it more than I."

"She can't carry you," she told him.

Ockal seemed to think about that, and then nodded. "You are wise," he told her, and then in a quieter tone, "and you make the difficult decisions."

She nodded and healed his wounds.

Finally, using what little healing power she had left, she tended to Olpara. The halfling woman's colour improved, and her breathing got deeper, but she did not wake.

"It's time to go," she said as she stood. "Gather everything up. We'll move quickly. I want to be off the moors as soon as possible."

Midan did not move as the others began to break down the small camp. Rowan wrapped the blankets more securely about Olpara, and then stood up, holding the slight form of the halfling in her arms. For a moment Misara thought to suggest that Rowan give her burden to someone else, to better be able to fight if it came down to that, but she remained quiet instead.

Granson moved over to Midan and coaxed the man to his feet. Even with someone he knew the mage still was wary.

Once everyone was ready Misara set the order of march. She would walk the point; Krall and Ockal would be on rear guard. She would have liked to have Granson with her to pick out the path, but he needed to stay with Midan.

They moved across the moors as fast as they could. The starlight allowed Misara to see almost as if it were day. While she did not have Granson's trail knowledge, she led them well enough. Twice they hid from trolls, and once from a pair of hill giants that were foraging in the darkness.

It was near dawn when they reached Everlund. Misara sent the others ahead to the Inn where hot food, warm rooms and some healers awaited. She stood where she was, staring to the east, watching as the sun rose over the mountains.

* * *

Iron shifted slightly as Misara tried to put the saddlebags across his broad back. She lightly slapped him across his withers as a warning to behave, then reached up and scratched him between his ears. 

"I'm worried about Olpara," Rowan told Misara from where she was saddling Rose Thorn.

Misara was not at all surprised to hear her companion say such a thing. For one reason or another a bond had formed between Olpara and Rowan, or at least Rowan felt something. She also knew that worshipers of Sune would follow their hearts wherever it might lead them. It was not something that Misara would even think of fighting against.

"Stay here then and help her recover." Misara straightened the saddlebags.

"What? But our mission."

"I will be several days in the High Forest, at least." She checked the straps and then reached for her backpack. "While you would have been welcome, the truth is that you might have slowed me a little. Stay here with Olpara, and as soon as you can continue after me. We'll meet in Beliard and continue from there."

Rowan looked relieved, but she said, "Are you certain? You might need my help."

"Don't worry about me," Misara said with a smile as she swung herself onto Iron's back. "I'll see you in Beliard as soon as possible." She wheeled Iron around and set him galloping towards the road. She slowed and turned to wave as Iron's steel shod hooves touched the main road, then she was off at a full gallop, leaning low against her mount's neck.


	7. On the Eaves of the Forest

**Chapter 7 - On the Eaves of the Forest**  
by Shawn Hagen 

Liman strode out of the gate, hardly paying attention to the people about him. His long stride forced them to move out of his way or be pushed out of his way. He wore travel stained clothing and a thick cloak that had seen better days. As he moved farther away from Everlund, and from the settlement that had grown up around the gate, he pulled the cloak from his shoulders and tossed it away, letting the wind take it where it would.

He turned off the road, moving into the deeper snow, pushing his way through it. He pulled off the tunic and dropped it to the ground. The shirt he wore under it was stained with blood, not his.

By the time he reached the copse of trees where Ippla and Siishi waited he was down to just the breaches. He climbed over a windbreak made of snow and slid into the shelter.

"She's gone, heading south, at least a sunrise ahead of us," he said.

"We're going to follow?" Ippla asked.

"Her companion has remained behind to care for one injured."

"We follow the companion then," Siishi said.

"Both. Ippla will leave and try to catch up to the elf. We stay here and wait to follow the companion."

"Where do we meet?"

"If you do not catch the elf, enter the High Forest, go to the Deeppond and wait for us there. If you find her use these," he said, tossing the smaller man a leather bag. "Leave a trail."

Ippla had caught the bag, and held it in his hand. "I won't need to leave a trail if I kill her," he said.

Liman nodded. "If you think you are able, then do so, but do not risk yourself unnecessarily. If we attack with strength the kill will be guaranteed."

Ippla nodded. "I will leave right away."

"Hurry. You can cross the bridge in the city. They close the gates when the sun sets. They fear the dark."

Ippla nodded as he reached for a bag of clothing and began pulling the scavenged items out.

* * *

Cirtimin walked slowly along the stone corridors, leaning heavily on his staff. His pace was slow, feet shuffling over dusty floors, kicking small pebbles, sending them skittering across the stone tiles. He muttered softly to himself, a litany of pains that plagued him. He was a young man, but he moved as one much older.

His dark red robe was covered in streaks of dust from when he brushed up against the walls; his dark brown hair was befouled with cobwebs. The iron-shod staff made quiet, ringing sounds as it came down on the floor, a counterpoint to the shuffling of his boots.

He stopped at the end of the corridor, breathing heavily, taking a moment to gather his strength. In front of him was a stone door, covered in Elvish runes, sealed with heavy bars of dark metal. He reached out and placed his hand against the door; with one finger he traced out one of the runes, then a second, then a third. As his finger lifted from the third rune he whispered, "Quel Kaima."

The metal bars slid back, a quiet whisper of metal across stone, and the door swung open.

Once more using the support of his staff he shuffled into the room, moving across the floor until he stood in the centre of a dimly glowing pattern, its light the room's only illumination. "You have summoned me Lady Asharass," he called out into the darkness.

"You are welcome here Cirtimin, I thank you for answering my summons so quickly." The voice was feminine and in it was an undercurrent of power. It came from just beyond the light.

He bowed his head. "I live to serve."

"I have a task for you. The Elven Paladin, Misara Anor'Esira, she is a threat." Asharass moved forward, her shadowy form on the edge of the faint light. There was a flash of red hair and pale skin.

"Hardly so to you Lady."

For a moment Asharass was quiet, and Cirtimin wondered, as he often did, if he had finally overstepped some unmarked boundary.

"You do not truly appreciate the danger that the elves represent. While they may not command the magic they once did, devices created from that time still remain, and their knowledge of the past is a power in of itself. I will not risk Misara Anor'Esira bringing news of my revival before I am ready."

"Of course Great Asharass," he said, considering what that new piece of information meant.

"Noriss' capture is a set back. Now they know that he was not working alone. We are fortunate in that the leaders of the Marches believe that he is an agent of the Zhentarim. I must strike at the elf, but I will not risk using one of my own. I have sent other agents after her, none that can be connected to me, but I wish to ensure that there are other options available." She had turned and circled him, as she moved into the light for a moment he could see the red of the silk dress she wore, her barefoot that did not quite touch the ground.

"Yes Lady Asharass."

"She is an Elf and a Paladin. I have no doubt that she has many enemies, and there are those who would see her dead just for what she is. Find them." She stepped away from the light, the shadow and darkness swallowing her up.

He nodded. "It shall be as you say Lady Asharass."

There was no answer from the darkness. She had nothing else to tell him.

As he exited the room the door closed and sealed behind him. His mind was on the task that he had been given, but he also thought about his rooms, with his comfortable chair in front of the fire, and one of his servants to rub the aches from his shoulders.

* * *

Misara was four days out from Everlund, nearly two hundred miles from the city. She had been pushing Iron hard to make the speed, and the horse did not seem to mind. She did not have much farther to go, at least not on horseback. She had already crossed the river Dessarin, and had turned off the main road, continuing along old paths, riding cross-country where no such paths existed.

Iron snorted, and shied slightly, tossing his head. She knew that the horse's senses were sharper than hers in some ways, and that the wind had just changed direction, blowing in from the west. She had lived too long to ignore such a sign, and it was not the first time it had happened during the day.

Something was stalking her, moving closer, the scent of it alerted Iron. She kept her relaxed appearance as she rode, but the truth was she was watching everything around her. And yet when the hunter appeared it almost took her by surprise.

It came bounding towards her, a flash of orange and black, leaping from the ground, intent on her.

She rolled off the side of Iron, who bolted forward, the tiger, for that was what it was, passing through the space she would have been. As she began to draw her blade the big cat landed, spun about, and charged her. Blade not fully free of the sheath, she was forced to roll out of its way, its sharp claws ripping her cloak as it passed.

It turned in a tight circle, incredibly flexible, its jaws snapping at her. She was barely able to keep ahead of it, and it was forcing her onto the defensive. She did not like fighting animals. They were creatures of pure instinct, their fighting style, at least for her, unpredictable.

It snapped at her again, driving her back, almost costing Misara her balance. She did not like the way that the fight was progressing, that the animal was deciding the course. When the tiger lunged at her again she did not fall back, but instead punched forward.

Five hundred pounds of tiger exploded towards her, its teeth closing on her extended hand, the force of the bite dimpling the mithral plate of her gauntlet, cutting the softer leather and chain and skin beneath. Her magically enhanced strength slammed into the tigers head, sending it flying back before it could do any serious damage to her.

She straightened and drew her blade, setting herself to meet its next charge. The tiger shook its huge head, blood running from its mouth where several teeth had been broken. She watched as it shifted, skin, bone and muscle rippling as it stood up on its hind legs, its front paws becoming hand-like.

Misara was not really surprised by that; she had expected something of the sort when she was attacked by a tiger so far north. It growled at her, a deep rumbling noise as it cautiously approached her.

Blood from her right hand, it would make the hilt of her sword slippery; she would have to be careful. The weretiger shifted its weight from one foot to the other, not committing to an attack. It was in the middle of shifting to its right when it aborted the movement and instead charged her. It came at her left, forcing her to shift about to bring her sword between them.

The blade connected with the weretiger's blow, stopping its arm, but the sharp edge hardly cut the beast at all. Misara did not dwell on that, knowing the resiliency of lycanthropes, and swung her sword around to meet his other arm, knocking it aside so his claws grated off her armour harmlessly.

They faced either other again over a few steps of ground, neither really hurt, both having a better idea of the capabilities of the other. Misara took the initiative and charged it, both hands on her sword's hilt; she swung it around, building up momentum, and slashed at her opponent's midsection.

The weretiger moved forward, into her attack, to steal force from the blow, but she reached forward, grasping her sword a hand span above the hilt, in effect shortening the weapon, and hit the weretiger with a solid blow that drove it back. Resilient or not, she knew that she had hurt it.

It moved back quickly, while doing so it shifted into tiger form. The wounds it had taken closed as it did. She reached behind herself, drawing a dagger from her weapon belt. She turned it in her hand, hiding the silver blade behind her arm, the plain, black hilt projecting past her fingers.

The weretiger charged forward, leaping into the air. She twisted to the side, used her sword to knock its paws away from her, used the weretiger's own momentum to spin herself around and drive the dagger deep into its side.

It screamed and twisted in the air. The dagger was pulled from her fingers by the violent actions, and the weretiger hit the ground some distance away from her, thrashing about, likely driving the dagger deeper into itself.

Misara moved forward, ready to finish the creature. The weretiger pushed itself back to its feet, backing away from her, blood running freely down its side. It stumbled and almost fell. She moved closer.

Fear in its eyes, the tiger turned and ran. Its flight was slower than its attack, but the long legged lope easily outpaced her. She whistled loudly which brought Iron running towards her. She reached out and pulled her bow and quiver from the horse's back. A few seconds later, bow strung, she sent an arrow speeding after the weretiger. It howled in pain as the arrow found its mark, stumbled, fell, then got up again, moving slower than before. Its scream was a cry of hurt and anguish that echoed off the nearby trees.

Another arrow was ready to fly, but for a moment she hesitated, its pained cry still in her ears. The creature was no longer a threat to her; she would not be harmed if she showed mercy. And yet, wounded as it was, the weretiger was even more dangerous. And if it attacked her, whom else might it attack?

The second arrow sped to join the first, followed by a third. When next the weretiger fell it did not get up.

She unstrung her bow, put it and the quiver back on Iron, and then swung herself onto the horse. Iron walked slowly across the rough ground and came to stand above the blood soaked ground and a dead man.

Misara slipped off Iron's back and knelt down beside him. On his arm was a tattoo of a bloody claw, the mark of the Beastlord. She reached out and closed his eyes, whispering softly, "May you find some peace in death that you did not in life." After a moment she stood and climbed back onto Iron, eager to be on her way. As she rode off she pulled off her damaged gauntlet and looked at the torn skin beneath. It took but a moment to heal it and the wound closed, leaving no scar behind.


	8. The Sage Vilis

**Chapter 8 - The Sage Vilis**  
by Shawn Hagen

Misara removed the last of her gear from Iron's back. She had found a tree stump, the tree likely blown over in some storm, and poured a large portion of grain into the bowl that had formed. There was some grass poking up through the thinning snow, and a stream close by. She had no doubt that the horse would be fine on its own.

Iron shook his body, as if to be certain the last Misara's possessions were off, and then he walked away, stopping to chomp at some dry grass.

After strapping everything to her pack, she lifted it onto her back and walked into the forest. Soon the trees soared above her and the canopy blocked out most of the sunlight. What remained was more than adequate for her eyes.

After an hour of walking she shifted her pack off her shoulders and then began to remove her armour. The deer path she had been following turned in a direction she had no interest in going. Her armour would just slow her down from that point.

From her pack she removed a large belt-pouch. Into the pouch she placed the armour, and then the saddlebags, and finally the pack itself. The magical bag was one of her prized possession for it made adventuring that much easier.

The only amour she wore was the elven chain shirt, with a cloak of shifting greens and greys over it. She checked her weapons to ensure they were secure, then jumped up to catch one of the lower branches of a younger tree. She climbed quickly, moving into the thick canopy to continue her journey.

* * *

For Misara, the next days were peaceful, almost relaxing. She was in an ancient forest, passing unnoticed by other dwellers, except the few times she put arrow to bow and removed some minor menace or another. The High Forest had been, and still was, her people's home. She felt very possessive of it.

It was warm under the canopy, most of the fading winter winds blocked by the huge trees. Sometime she found clearings, opened up by some force another, and she would walk among the broken trees, staring up at the blue sky, knowing that the forest would soon reclaim the land. She brushed her hand over the saplings that would soon block out the sky and smiled.

At night she rested in the branches above the forest, eyes half closed, drifting into the meditative sleep of her people. She found herself thinking of other forests across Faerûn, and of the time when they had covered the land.

During the day she moved quickly, sometimes passing old ruins and new settlements, hidden deep in the woods.

Once she sat in the upper branches of a Shadowtop, watching as two young green dragons battled below her. They ripped and tore into one another, their bodies twisting around each other as both sought to end the battle. Trees were broken in the fight, even the Shadowtop she sheltered in was hit and for a moment she thought it might fall as well.

Finally the smaller of the dragons lashed out with his tail, hitting the larger one on the bottom of its jaw. Its head snapped up and the smaller moved in, setting its teeth onto the neck of its foe.

Together they rolled, locked in a deadly embrace, claws racking at each other. The larger one's attacks began to fail, getting weaker and weaker until finally it stopped moving altogether. With a roar the victor tore the throat from its fallen enemy. Then it stumbled back, and collapsed.

Misara knelt on the branch, bow in hand, staring down at the exhausted green dragon. It was a magnificent creature, scales torn and stained with blood, one wing's gliding membranes tattered and ripped, and yet it was still a dragon, and one that had just battled for its life.

No doubt it would, in time, grow stronger, it would develop greater cunning, and be much more dangerous. For a moment she thought to let if live, but only a moment. It was a threat to those who lived in peace in the High Forest.

The arrow Misara fired pierced deeply into place where the earlier fight had torn loose a scale. It reared up, blood pumping from the wound, shifting about, trying to find its attacker, but it was weak, and getting weaker.

She fired again, an arrow piercing into its back. As its legs failed it and it collapsed to the forest floor it looked up at her, their eyes meeting across the distance. She saw no pleading in those eyes, just anger at its fate, and perhaps acceptance of it. She felt tears in her own eyes as she let another arrow loose. Like a bolt of lighting the arrow cut through the air and drove itself deep into the dragon's eye.

Slowly, as strength and life left it, the dragon collapsed, as if it were gently lowering itself to rest.

Misara remained in her perch, looking down at the dead dragons until night fell.

* * *

Misara slipped out of the trees and into a clearing. She could see the Star Mounts soaring high above, but knew she was still some distance from the mountains. About her was soft grass and well-tended flowers, and a bridge of stepping-stones crossed the stream that neatly bisected the clearing in half.

She stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, revelling in the scents of newly opened flowers. Spring had come early to this part of the High Forest. She would be happy to sit on the grass and just enjoy the sun while it was still overhead.

Instead she started forward, skipping across the stepping-stones, crossing the stream. Immediately she noticed the different feel of the forest, a sense of peace, the wildness of the forest still there, but controlled. She crossed the clearing and stepped under the trees once more, the feeling of peace increasing.

The path she followed wove between the trees, taking odd turns so as to avoid harming the natural beauty of the woods around her. Birds sang in the trees and small, harmless animals chattered from the canopy above. So relaxed was she that Misara almost missed the watchers.

She stopped and looked around, smiling. "Well," Misara said, looking directly at one of the trees, "Conkordia, you still can't hide from me you know." She shifted her attention up the tree trunk of another tree. "Serdeia, it appears that you are losing some of your talent."

From behind the first tree stepped a dark elf, Conkordia. She was a pretty woman, as tall as Misara; her white hair cut short, and her pale pink eyes showing a hint of red in the shadow under the trees. She was dressed in green and grey leather armour and carried a longbow.

"I think if anyone is losing their talent then it is you," Misara heard Serdeia say from behind her.

Laughing, Misara turned to face the second dark elf. Serdeia stood almost a head shorter than Misara. Her white hair was worn long, plaited into a single braid that, Misara knew, ended in a clip that held a small dagger. Her eyes were pale silver, but also showed the hint of red in the shadow. Not really attractive, she had a plain face, her best feature were her wide eyes. She was dressed in a manner similar to Conkordia, but a hand crossbow hung from her weapon belt, as well as a hand and a half sword that almost dragged on the ground.

Serdeia stepped forward and put her arms around Misara, hugging her tight, laughing as well. A moment later Conkordia joined them, the two dark elves holding her tight.

"Welcome home," Conkordia said. "Are you going to stay this time?" she asked playfully.

"It would be about time that you did so," Serdeia added.

Misara freed herself from the embrace of the two women. "You simply want another pair of hands to do your work," she told them, trying to sound cross.

"Well, you can't blame us for trying," Serdeia said.

"And maybe you need to do a little hard work," Conkordia scolded. "You go running off all over Faerûn, I'm certain just enjoying yourself."

Misara shook her head. "Well, you've caught me out. It took you long enough."

"We were giving you the benefit of the doubt," Serdeia said.

Conkordia laughed and reached out to take Misara's hand. "Come along. There is a great deal to see." She set off, leading Misara down the path. "Six years is not a long time but there have been a number of changes in Daetaure that are worth seeing."

Serdeia moved to walk beside Misara and asked, "Is this a social visit or is it important?"

"It is important, but I have a little time to see the changes."

"Did you come to speak to Vilis?" Conkordia asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Yes, there are some questions that I think she might be able to answer."

"Poor Conkordia," Serdeia said playfully, "she always hopes that you will come for her."

"Well, I am always glad to see dear Kordia," Misara answered.

"That's hardly enough," Conkordia told her. "But I am willing to wait until you realise the truth of these matters."

Serdeia laughed out loud. "Since when has patience ever been one of your virtues?"

"Since when did I have any virtues at all?" Conkordia countered.

The two dark elves traded barbs and counter barbs, a skilful verbal sparring that spoke of a long friendship. Misara, who had been on the edge of the friendship for many years, enjoyed the rhythm of it, as she might enjoy a skilfully composed ballad. So intent was she on the interplay between her two friends that she was not at first aware when they came into Daetaure proper.

Long ago, before the many of the elves had left the High Forest in the Retreat, what would become Daetaure had been just an outpost, a well-hidden forest fortress from where the events around the Star Mounts might be observed and action taken when necessary. After the Retreat it had been abandoned, until the Followers of Eilistraee had found it.

Almost two centuries had passed, and it had grown in that time, from outpost to town. The canopy had been encouraged to grow in such a way that clearings were opened, there people could stare up and see the sun, or the stars, or the moon; especially the moon. Around trees, high up on the trunks, were balconies; bridges of interwoven branches provided upper walkways that were nearly invisible from the ground. The trees themselves held the homes of many of Daetaure's residents.

On the ground were a number of buildings, built from local stone, with the deceptively delicate appearance that elves favoured. Visitors might not think much of them, but they dated back to the time of the fortress, and the structures would force any enemy into strategically unsound positions.

It was very beautiful, but she had seen it before. Other than a few new homes, both in the trees and on the ground, she could see nothing to explain Koncordia's earlier excitement. And then she noticed the elves. Not dark elves, which had, the last time she was there made up most of Daetarue's population, but wood elves, moon elves, even a wild elf. And what was more was that they did not seem to view their Dark elf neighbours with any suspicion.

"How?" Misara asked, turning to look at Conkordia.

Conkordia laughed, and waved towards a group of wood elf fletchers who were making arrows. "I suppose it is mostly luck, and the blessing of Eilistraee. Four years prior we helped deal with a large group of orcs that invaded the northern part of the forest. They had some powerful magic and, given the chance, might have caused a great deal of damage."

"There is nothing like fighting shoulder to shoulder with someone to make them realise that you might actually be a friend," Serdeia chuckled. "A number of our sister and brother elves realised that Daetarue's position was quite valuable and decided to join us."

"And quite a few of the new comers are from Evermeet, returning to Faerûn after all these years. I have no idea where they might have heard about us." Conkordia looked at Misara and gave her a knowing smile.

"Don't look at me. I haven't been back to Evermeet since I left," Misara protested.

"Stories of you travel farther than you think," Serdeia told her.

"I'm certain that the priests of Corellon Larethian have played their part," Misara said. "He looks favourably on his Daughter's followers."

"That is true, after all, you are proof of that," Serdeia said with a nod.

Misara smiled as she looked about, pleased to see that Daetarue and its inhabitants were doing well. She had had reason to be concerned in the past, but perhaps she would finally be able to put such worries to rest.

Conkordia ran ahead, to a large Shadowtop. She knelt down, putting her long fingers against the tree. A moment later a small, hidden door opened between the roots. She moved aside and looked back at Misara. "Vilis is in the library," she told her.

Misara nodded, stepping up to the tunnel entrance. "Not coming with me?"

Conkordia shook her head. "I have some other things to take care of."

"Myself as well," Serdeia said.

"I'll see you soon then." She stepped down into the tunnel, pulling the door closed behind her as she entered. The sunlight was abruptly cut off, and Misara blind for a moment, but her eyes adjusted and the tiny, magical lamps gave her more than enough light to see by.

The tunnels under the trees had been constructed by the dark elves, for comfort and added defence. Misara slid down the ladder into the corridor, looking about her. The walls were smooth, black stone, broken here and there by a root, passing through the unmarred stone on its way deeper into the soil. She supposed it reminded the dark elves, those who chose to spend more time in the tunnels, that they were closer to the surface then to the subterranean world that had been their home.

She walked along the corridor, taking turns, descending a spiral staircase at one point, until she reached the huge, open doorway that led into the library. Misara looked about the room, the long shelves, heavy with tomes and scrolls, stretched across the large room, giving indication of how much knowledge was kept there.

She walked through the open foyer, nodding to a number of readers she recognised, taking note some newcomers. At the far wall was a large desk, covered in books, almost obscuring the small, dark elven woman who sat behind. Vilis.

Vilis looked up as Misara approached, her milky white eyes staring to Misara's right for a moment before they shifted to meet Misara's gaze. She smiled and put aside the book she had been reading. "Welcome home Misara," she said, her voice soft and sweet.

Misara took a seat in front of the desk, reaching forward to slide a pile of books to the side. "I am glad to see you Vilis," she said.

Vilis was old, not by human standards by which any elf was old, but by the standards of her own people. Her age did not show in her face, it rarely did in any of the people. Some of if showed in her blind eyes, but most of all there was a sense of age about her, a knowledge that the woman had seen not centuries, but millennia.

"You need my help," Vilis said without preamble.

"I do."

Vilis got to her feet. "Come along. Let me make you some tea and we can talk."

There was a small, private office in one of the corners of the library, near the vault that held the spell books and other dangerous knowledge. There were two couches, soft, and low to the floor, as well as a pile of cushions. It was not a place to work, but to relax.

Vilis quickly prepared the tea, a magical tea set speeding the process considerably. She handed Misara a porcelain cup, dark blue with a gold rim, filled with a bitter smelling, hot liquid. "A new mixture that Wersala is working on. It is something of an acquired taste." She took a seat beside Misara on the couch.

Misara drank from the cup. It tasted as bitter as it smelled, but there was a subtle aftertaste that was not unpleasant. "I see what you mean," she said. "I could come to enjoy this I think."

Vilis nodded, then took a drink from her own up. "So," she asked as she placed the cup on a side table, "what is it you wish to know?"

"The name Asharass."

"I know it."

Misara smiled. "I am not surprised."

Vilis laughed softly. "Unfortunately I think I will disappoint you. I do not know very much of the name. It was in a book that I read a long time ago, a rather uninspired little tome that provided reasons why the Ilythiir were destined to live separately from their kin. It was, for the most, a standard list of grievances that the drow would make against the elves of surface."

Vilis was silent for a moment, staring off into space. "The failure in the affair of Taumon and Asahrass," she said, her tone flat as she recited the passage from memory, "is yet another example of the failures that are destined to come about when the people of Ilythiir try to co-operate with other of the people."

She shook her head and then turned back to Misara. "Whoever wrote it assumed that the reader would know of the situations referred to, which tells me that it was written around the time of the Crown Wars."

"That long ago?"

"Yes," Vilis told her.

Misara shook her head. "The last thing that the Silver Marches needs right now is the uncovering of some ancient, elven magic."

"I believe it is all destined to be uncovered, eventually. The power of elven magic does not sleep lightly I fear."

"How do I find out more?"

"You could travel to the library where I first read of this," Vilis suggested, her tone making it a jest.

"I'm certain that the dark Elves of the Underdark would be happy to see me."

"No doubt. You could go to Evermeet," she continued in a more serious tone, "or Evereska. You may find the answers that you seek there, however such a path may not be as easy as you might hope."

"Why?"

"The information you seek likely concerns itself with something very old and powerful."

"I see. Those who hold these secrets would wish that they remain secrets."

Vilis nodded. "That is a very real possibility. Given time I have no doubt you could find out what you need."

"I'm not certain how much time I have. Do you have any other ideas?"

"Candlekeep. The records their stretch back in time; it is quite possible that they will have what you seek. And if they don't, the other path you might follow will start at Candlekeep."

"What is this other path?"

"There is a story of the Crown Wars that was told amongst the drow, one of the many stories of that time. This one spoke of a historian of the dark elf people, a man who had studied the past and learned to see the patterns in that that would allow him to predict what the future could bring.

"In the initial moves of the rebellion, when much of it was still talk, and most of the dark elves had yet to follow the dark path that Araushnée, who would become Lolth, had set for them, he spoke out, telling those who would listen what would likely occur. Whether he spoke for or against the rebellion, I do not know; however my people say that he spoke for it," Vilis' said in the tone of a storyteller, "for the glory and power that we would attain."

"There are other versions the tale that say he spoke of the loss and the pain we would have to endure, and even the fall and corruption of Araushnée.

"Whichever he spoke of, there came a time when his words might have had great power, a time when the events that would unfold were balanced on the cusp of history. And at that time he chose to say nothing.

"The drow who tell this story say that the other elves threatened him and his family, demanding his silence as they plotted against the dark elves. Others tell that he was given treasure by the dark elves for his silence. Some say that the evil spirits that Araushnée had dealt with waylaid him so he would not speak.

"Only he knows the truth I think. What happened afterwards were the events of the Crown Wars. Araushnée would be banished to the abyss for her actions, cursed to take the form of a spider demon. The dark elves were forced into the Underdark, forever to be away from the Sun, and the Stars and the Moon." Something caught in her voice, as if the thought of such a punishment overwhelmed her for a moment.

"The Historian," she continued a moment later, "did not go with his people, nor was he killed in the fighting. The gods of the Elves cursed him so that he would know neither death nor life, and that he would use his knowledge to help those who asked, until one day that he would atone for the evil caused when he remained silent.

"He was then sent to an outpost on the very southern edge of the Elven Empire, to stay there until his curse was lifted. The outpost was called Mith'hisie, Grey Mist Keep, and he remained there, even when the elves abandoned Mith'hisie, sealing it and hiding it with magic.

"No tale tells of him being freed from his curse, or leaving the Keep by other means. He remains there, knowing neither death nor life, waiting. He was a master of history in the time you wish to know more of. If you can find him, he will tell you what you need to know."

"You say I will find information about the path to Mith'hisie at Candlekeep?"

"Yes," Vilis told her. "When I visited Candlekeep, long ago, I found information about the keep. However it was not my reason for being there so I did not further research it at the time. I can only tell you the information is there."

"Do you think that if he were to help me that it would free him from his curse?"

For a few seconds Vilis was quiet, her eyes closed. "I hope that might be the case. For a time I have considered sending an expedition to search him out, but the time and circumstances have never presented themselves. I hope that you find your answers in Candlekeep, but if you do not, then there may be great good done in your search for him."

For a moment Misara wondered if Vilis' primary concern was to send her on the quest for the historian, but she immediately pushed that thought away. Vilis was giving her the best advice she knew. "I think I will travel to Candlekeep, as you suggest."

"You will need a book then, to gain entrance into the library."

"Do you have anything that they librarians would be interested in?" Misara suspected that Vilis did.

Vilis smiled. "I will give you the first book of my memoirs. I feel certain that the monks will find it worth including in their library. In fact," she smiled broadly, "you may want to mention when you present it to them that if they wish to see any of the later volumes that they had best give you all the help you need."

"Are they that good?"

"Well," Vilis said slyly, "I have no doubt that you will read the first on your way to Candlekeep. I am willing to bet that you will return here as quickly as you might afterwards to read the next."

"Something to look forward to then."

"And something to bring you back, which will make Lindra very happy."

Misara smiled and nodded. "I'm surprised that she is not here. Has her training sent her elsewhere?"

Vilis shook her head. "She is here, but I do not think she will charge into the library, at least not yet. She is trying to act more mature, as she thinks befits a priestess."

"She needs to meet more priestesses then."

Vilis laughed softly at that. "When they are young they always take things more seriously. It is always like that when children become adults."

Misara got to her feet and placed her teacup onto the service tray. "I think I will step outside before she is forced to do something that would cost her some of her valued dignity then. If you will excuse me?"

"Of course. I will see you outside."

Misara left the library and retraced her steps, soon exiting the tunnels and coming out onto the forest floor. The sun had moved farther to the west, and the shadows under the trees had grown deeper. She took a deep breath of the forest-scented air. The tunnels might be comfortable, but she was a child of the forests first and foremost.

"Mother!" she heard Lindra call.

Misara turned just in time to catch her daughter and then spun around to bleed off the momentum of the charge. Lindra was laughing out loud as she was swung around, sounding like a little girl.

Finally she placed Lindra back on the ground and Lindra moved close, hugging her tight.

Misara ran her hand across hair that was a faint, faint yellow, and then shifted Lindra back so she could tilt her face up towards her and look into her pale lilac eyes. Dipping her head slightly, she kissed her on the forehead. "I am so happy to see you," she told her.

Lindra might have blushed, but it was hard to be certain with her black skin. She smiled and moved back, releasing her hold on Misara. Misara was slower to let her daughter go, holding onto her until they stood at arms length, holding hands.

"You are so beautiful," Misara told her, and it was true. The years since they had last stood together had not really changed her daughter in any physical way, but there was a confidence there that had been absent when they had last said goodbye.

Lindra looked a little embarrassed, dropping her eyes, and saying, "Mother."

Misara knew that Lindra was pleased by the compliment and she simply smiled as she let go of her hands. "So, tell me, what have you been up to?"

Lindra laughed and moved close to Misara again, taking her arm in hers. "Let me show you Daetarue and I'll tell you what I have been doing."

"Lead the way LinLin."

"Mother," she said, sounding a little vexed, "must you call me that?"

"Of course."

Lindra frowned, but a smile appeared on her face a moment later and she laughed. She pulled Misara off towards the centre of Daetarue, telling her about the changes to the settlement, and what she had been doing.

Misara listened, happy to hear that her daughter's training was progressing well. She felt her heart speed up a little as Lindra spoke of battles fought in, and wounds received. There was a sadness in her voice when Lindra spoke of the next steps she was going to take. Her little LinLin was no longer a child, but a young woman, nearly an adult.

"Well, I see that Lindra has locked tight onto her mommy," Conkordia said in a teasing tone.

"Aunt Kordia!" Lindra said angrily, turning to face the woman.

Nearly an adult, but not quite, Misara thought as she watched Conkordia and Serdeia tease Lindra. It was a familiar scene, Misara thought, watching it unfold. The two dark elves had been Lindra's caretakers and friends for almost a hundred years; there was a closeness between them. She could not help but feel a little jealous of that, but only a little.

Serdeia was lecturing Lindra on the necessity of showing proper respect to a more senior priestess when Misara decided to save her daughter. "Should she show you the same respect that you show Vilis?" Misara asked.

Serdeia smiled and turned to look at Misara. "A little more than that I would hope."

Conkordia laughed, soon joined by Serdeia and Lindra. "I have brought you some things," Misara said to Lindra.

"Presents!" Conkordia shouted, causing more laughter. They four of them were creating quite a scene, but those who had lived in Daetarue for a long time had seen it played out before. The newcomers would likely be curious, and no doubt their more experienced neighbours would be happy to explain it to them.

Misara took Lindra's hand and led her to a nearby bench. She sat down and removed the magical pouch from her belt and opened it up. Part of the ceremony, such as it was, the cleaning out of the magical bag. As a child Lindra had stood at her mother's knee, watching all the things come out of the small bag, an impossibly large pile building up as the presents were discovered.

"Here we go," Misara said, producing a sheathed sword from the bag and handing it to Lindra. "A katana, from Kara-Tur."

Lindra took the blade, looking it over, turning the weapon carefully as she examined all the details of the hilt and sheath. Finally she drew the blade free, showing the live blade the respect it deserved.

Her daughter shared the same love of swordplay as Misara, but where Misara had always been happy to focus on the long sword, Lindra expanded her interests to all bladed weapons.

"Notice the curve of the blade," Conkordia said to Lindra in her lecture tone. "Made for slashing attacks, the curve increasing the effect of your cut."

"I know," Lindra said, sounding truly upset for the first time. "It is very much like the sabres used by the Tuigan. And look at the edge. You can tell it is more brittle than the rest of the blade. It will hold an excellent edge, but it is not a weapon to parry with."

"She's learned her lessons well," Serdeia told Conkordia.

"Yes I have," Lindra responded, slashing the sword through the air, getting a feel for it.

"I have to say that I preferred it when Misara brought all those wonderful toys." Serdeia took a seat beside Misara.

"I liked the stories she told of bullying the finest craftsmen into making those toys," Conkordia said as she took the katana from Lindra. "Especially the Dwarven ones."

"I liked that myself," Misara said as she produced another sword from her bag.

"What happened to the toys?" Serdeia asked.

"I kept a few," Lindra said. "Most I gave to other children when I no longer played with them."

"Generous to a fault," Conkordia quipped.

"That's my little girl," Misara said as she took another sword from the bag.

Misara was not really certain how many swords she had given to Lindra, and she suspected most of them had ended up in Daetarue's armoury. Picking up blades as she travelled was a habit she had fallen into, and her magic bag made it very simple. Of course swords were not the only things that went into the bag. A pile of items began to grow around her; sometimes she found things that she did not even recall having placed in there.

A small crowd began to gather, drawn by the entertainment provided by Lindra and Conkordia arguing over sword technique and of Misara's apparently bottomless bag. It was just a sign that she should do some house cleaning, as it were, and leave more than swords behind in Daetarue.

She was in the process of looking for a long sword, a beautiful weapon taken from a drow warrior in the Dalelands that she thought Lindra might be interested in-it was part of her heritage after all-when she heard a gasp of pleasure.

Looking up she expected to find Lindra looking at one of the many swords that were laid out in the ground, but instead she was holding up a dress. It was, Misara noted, one of the gowns she had had made while in Silverymoon.

"This is beautiful," Lindra said, holding the pale green dress up in front of her. Misara was taller than her daughter so the hem of the gown nearly brushed the forest floor.

"Would you like it?"

"May I?" Lindra asked, sounding excited.

"Of course. That colour will look good on you I think. In fact," she said, looking at a number of dresses on the bench beside her, why don't you have all these as well."

Lindra let out a small whoop of joy as she spun about, then grabbed another of the more formal dresses, one of a soft yellow silk that was close in shade to her hair. She spun about, as if dancing, the clothing flaring out from her body.

"I'm not sure," Conkordia said as she slid up beside Lindra, "perhaps they should go to someone with a figure closer to your mothers." She reached out for one of the gowns.

"Never!" Lindra said with a laugh as she ducked away from Conkordia and then dashed in to grab the rest of the dresses before running off.

"Share at least one!" Conkordia called as she ran after her.

"I have my eye on that black silk gown," Serdeia said as she got off the bench. She looked back towards Misara. "You'll have to tell me under which decadent circumstances you wore it." Then she ran off as well.

Misara watched as her daughter led the other two on a short chase before stopping in a patch of late afternoon sunshine where she pressed Conkordia and Serdeia into holding the clothing for her as she held each dress and gown in front of her. If there was a tailor in Daetarue then he or she was likely going to be busy with alterations.

"I never tire of their foolishness," Vilis said.

Misara looked over to see Vilis sitting beside her. She was surprised by the sudden appearance, but not by the fact that Vilis had once again appeared as if by magic (or perhaps by magic). She could likely teach shadows a thing or two.

"They do enjoy themselves," Misara said, smiling. "I wonder who Conkordia and Serdeia will play with when Lindra grows up."

Vilis chuckled at that. "As long as she remains friends with those two she will never grow up that much."

"They are a horrible influence on her, aren't they?"

"Oh yes," Vilis said sagely.

"In a very short time she won't be my little girl any longer," Misara said with a sigh.

"No, she won't."

"She's such a wonderful girl."

"Lindra will lead the way," Vilis said cryptically.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"In her I see one who might allow those dark elves who seek peaceful coexistence to live with the other people of Faerûn. Others have started the process, but she will be important in continuing it."

"Her shoulders are too slim, and she is not strong enough for you to place that burden on her back," Misara said, a hint of tears in her voice.

"You do not know your daughter as well as you should. Sadly, she is very much like you."

"Sadly?"

"Do you remember when you first came here?"

"Of course, but what..."

"You were so frightened, we could all see it," Vilis said, interrupting Misara. "Everyone else assumed that you were afraid of us, of the drow, but that was not it. You were wary of us of course, not surprising considering what had happened, and the thousands of years of hatred between our people, but you were not afraid of us. What you did fear was failure, that you would not accomplish the task that you had been sent to."

Vilis turned her blind eyes towards Lindra. "Your daughter is like you in that. She fears nothing but that she might fail. She is trying to be like you."

"That will not guarantee her a happy life," Misara said, and wiped at her eyes. "Quite the opposite really."

"She will have to fight for any happiness she has, like you. And yet you are as content in your lot."

"Do you really think that?" Misara asked.

Vilis was silent for a moment. "Something concerns you."

Misara nodded. "Yes. I am having doubts."

"There is nothing wrong with having doubts. We all have them at times. Tell me about them."

Misara watched Lindra and the others for a time, saying nothing, then she told Vilis about the dragon she had killed a few days before. Vilis listened, not saying anything until Misara finished.

"So, you feel bad about killing this dragon," Vilis said.

"Not bad," Misara paused, "perhaps forced might be the best way to describe it."

Vilis leaned back, turning her blind eyes towards the canopy above. "Have you ever asked yourself about the price of your calling?"

"Many times, especially as of late," Misara said, a little surprised that she admitted it.

"I have wondered about it myself. Tell me, why have you left here so often?"

"Because I had to," Misara told her. "There was evil that needed to be fought."

"There is plenty of evil to be found in this forest."

"You are more than capable of handling that," Misara said, and laughed.

Vilis turned to look at Misara. She did not smile. "Would you like me to tell you the price I have seen you pay?"

"Yes," Misara said, though part of her wanted to say 'no'.

"Your daughter. Your wanderings as a Knight Errant have cost you the chance to truly know Lindra, and to put any doubts that you might have about her behind you."

"That's not fair."

Vilis laughed. "Fair? Fair is a word children use. Even Lindra does not ask for things to be fair any longer. Things are the way they are Misara. Perhaps if you had not been off, playing Paladin, you might have learned that."

Misara felt as if she had been slapped.

"You are a good person. You are a strong warrior. You are even my friend. You have been a bad mother in so many ways, and that, in my opinion, is far more important than the others. If you are beginning to have doubts about your choices, well, all I can say about that is good, and that I wish you had had them seventy years earlier."

It was not the answer that Misara wanted to hear, and she was afraid to ask another questions of Vilis, but she did not let the fear stop her. "What should I do?"

Vilis got to her feet. "I don't know." She looked down at Misara and smiled sadly. "You have to make a choice. You know that."

Misara nodded.

"Remember Misara, this is your home, by your own choice. Start thinking of it that way."

* * *

Misara knelt on a cushion in her home, a clay cup, filled with cooling tea, by her side. Her thoughts were on what Vilis had told her. Of what Yeshelné had said to her. Of prayers unanswered. They were on Lindra.

She looked up, to where Lindra sat on a window bench, staring up at the darkening sky. The first stars of the evening would be appearing. Across her daughter's knees was the beginning of a longbow that she shaped with knife and file. The movement of Lindra's hands were deft and certain, though she did not look at what she did.

Misara got to her feet and walked over to where Lindra worked. Lindra turned towards her and smiled. "It is going to be a beautiful night," she said.

Misara sat down beside her and reached out to take the bow from her hands. "When did you learn to make bows?"

"It is something that Lavrasm has been teaching me. He is one of the wood elves that has come to live here." She laughed. "He says that if I'm willing to give it a century of practice that I might get good at it."

Misara smiled at that, and held the weapon at arms length, testing the balance. "I'm not sure if you need a full century. This looks as if it will be a fine bow."

"Fine but not extraordinary. Lavrasm says that fine is only the beginning for a serious craftsman."

"I suppose that is so." Misara handed the bow back to Lindra.

Lindra ran her fingers across the wood, as if searching the wood for something. She took the knife and carved a piece of wood away.

"Lindra," Misara paused, not at all certain how to say what she wanted, "did you ever wish that I was around more?"

Her hands on the bow stilled for a moment, and when she cut again the small knife went deep into the wood. Misara could not be certain, but she thought that Lindra had cut far deeper than she had intended, and that little action told her far more than anything else might.

"Well, of course, when I was younger," Lindra said lightly. "But I know that everything that you had to do was important. It would be selfish of me if I grudged you that."

Misara felt as if her heart had risen up in her throat, and she wondered if she might start crying.

"And you were always there when I needed you," Lindra said.

Misara nodded, but she no longer thought that was the truth.

"I'm proud of you. Every story I've heard of you, it makes me feel so proud to be your daughter." Lindra put the bow aside and then reached forward and grasped Misara's hands in hers. "Mother, I love you."

Misara could feel tears in her eyes. "I love you too Lindra. You have to believe that."

Lindra reached forward and lightly brushed the tears from Misara's eyes. "I know."

Misara wanted to tell her that she would stay, she wanted to say that Rowan would handle whatever Asharass was, or if not, then it was not her concern. Staying with Lindra, in their home, was far more important. And it was, but only to them.

"You know," Lindra said, and she smiled and laughed, "I suppose that I am a little jealous of all those people you helped."

Misara reached up and gently ran her hand over Lindra's hair. "Don't be."

"I'll try," she said, and laughed again, as if it were a joke.

Misara was careful to smile back, to keep her expression light.

Lindra did not hate her, was not angry with her, though Misara thought she should be. She directed her anger towards those that had made her leave. It was a small thing now, but it would grow, and who knew what would blossom from such a thing.

It would be so much easier to Lindra directed her anger at me, Misara thought. That I could deal with.

* * *

Later, after Lindra had left for a moonrise ceremony, Misara wandered around the house, looking at things. For a time she wandered about Lindra's room, touching things on shelves, wondering at some of the items she saw there. What part of Lindra's life did the small carving of a unicorn represent? Who had given her the silver-cloth cloak?

She left the room, wandered throughout the other rooms. It was far too big for only two people. How must it seem for one? There was a glass paned cabinet along one of the walls, displayed within a collection of small treasures that had come from various quests and adventures. Misara stopped in front of it and opened the doors. She reached in, shifting some things aside, and removed a silver ring.

It shone in the faint illumination of a mage-light; no tarnish marred it, though it had been many years since Misara had placed into the cabinet. On the top of the ring was carved the symbol of Tyr, inlaid with gold.

Seventy years ago she had been given it. She recalled the words of the priest who had presented it to her. 'You may follow a different god, but your actions would do honour to any Paladin of our church.'

At the time that had made Misara feel proud.

She slipped the ring onto her finger. The metal was cold.


	9. Dancers in the Wings

**Chapter 9 - Dancers in the Wings**  
by Shawn Hagen 

The one Inn at Beliard, The Watchful Knight, was rough place built of logs, cold and draughty. Rowan sat at a table, drinking a passable ale, feeling that with only a little work that Arachar, the Inn's owner, might make something decent of the place.

Balconies looked down on the main hall, and two upper floors of rooms ringed it, giving it a sense of great space. Seal up all the cracks, get some dwarves to panel the rough walls with wood and stone, a better quality of beer, and it would have been a pleasant place to spend time.

As it was it The Watchful Knight was simply the only place to spend time. Beliard, a small, tree-cloaked village, offered little else of interest.

She had ridden quickly as she could to Beliard, but Misara was not present, nor had she passed through the village. It was likely the elf was still off on her mission to find out more information. Rowan had decided to wait a tenday at the Inn; and then, if Misara had not shown, she would travel to Waterdeep and continue the investigation on her own.

She did not regret the time, only the place she spent it in, for it would do Olpara some good.

The halfling woman had asked to travel with Rowan once she was well; potions and spells having undone the physical damage that the giants had caused. What they had not done was help her get over the deeper scars left upon her psyche.

The gregarious woman she had met at the Maiden's Rest had become quiet, uncertain. She had lost most of her friends and was in the middle of a land she had come to fear. It was not a situation that Rowan herself had experienced, Sune grant that she never would, but she had seen it before.

The journey might help Olpara, or at least take her to some haven where she might recover. Rowan thought that Waterdeep might offer such a haven. So now she travelled with the halfling that she had likely fallen in love with, or at least had a strong infatuation for. Such feelings were not uncommon for the Paladin of Sune, and she did not bother fighting them. And if Olpara could not return that love, well, a warm friendship would be enough.

The halfling was seated across from her, but her attention was on the far side of the hall where a musician played a dulcimer and sang an old ballad about a fallen warrior and the love he left behind. Then, as if aware she was being watched, she turned to look Rowan in the eyes.

"A pretty song," Rowan said, not looking away.

"But sad," Olpara answered.

"They often are." Rowan smiled and looked over the halfling's shoulder at the musician. "I do not think he has known true love or he might sing it differently."

"A guess, or the word of a servant of Sune?" she asked-present in her voice a humour that had been lacking of late.

"Perhaps a little of both."

"How did you become a Paladin?"

Rowan said nothing for a moment, considering the question. "It is not a very interesting story. Do you really want to hear it?"

"Yes."

"Well, my mother was a worshipper of Sune, father paid lip service to her, but he truly worshipped Chauntea. This is not really important, but it plays a part in the story."

Olpara nodded.

"I was a very attractive child, mother was quite proud of that. Beautiful, red hair, she was certain that I had the favour of Sune, and so I was kept from much of the work on the farm. Digging in the dirt was hardly a proper task for me, or so my mother thought. I personally wanted to work with my brothers and sisters; it always looked like they were having fun.

"When I was just a little over nine summers old my mother introduced me to a visiting priestess. Bethany, the priestess, thought that I should go to the temple of Sune at Athkatla, to study and serve the goddess. My mother was overjoyed, and for father it was a chance to get rid of a child who did not do any work." Rowan laughed softly. "Years later I made certain to send him a small fortune in gold and silver so he might remember me fondly.

"In the temple I started my studies, working with the other acolytes, my mother would have been scandalized to see me working so hard, but I enjoyed it. I was a very active child, and I loved running and playing and even fighting, when it came down to it, with the other children. The temple did not change that, and it was noticed. Rosalar, who was the head of Acolytes, saw that, and it was decided that I was not one who would be happy as a temple priestess, but would do better as a warrior priestess, protecting the faith.

"During those studies I came to the attention of Seomon Westride, a visiting Paladin. He said that I had the calling to join Sune's Paladins. Not long afterwards he took me to Waterdeep, to study at the temple there.

"He was right, I did have the calling. There were many tests of course, and the training of a Paladin is a long and difficult path, but for those that truly do have the calling it is challenging, not impossible. For those without the calling," Rowan raised her shoulders and let them fall, "they find other ways to serve the church.

"And that is it, without going into the details of me crying myself to sleep after a particularly difficult challenge." She smiled, picked up her mug and took a drink.

Olpara picked up her own mug, using both hands, and lifted it to her lips. Rowan watched her, considered the danger in the question she wanted to ask, and decided to ask it anyway.

"How did you take up the mantle of an adventurer?" she asked.

Olpara seemed to grow stiff, and she slowly lowered her mug to the tabletop. Rowan worried that she might have asked the question too soon. A moment later Olpara said, "It is because of a flying, clockwork boat."

Rowan considered those words for a moment, decided that she had heard them right, and then said, "What?"

Smiling, Olpara leaned back in her chair. "I wanted to fund the construction of a flying, clockwork boat. You see, I'm from Lantan, originally. Several years ago some gnome acquaintances of mine showed me the plans they had for a flying boat. They needed funds to construct it; I had talents that could earn a great deal of money."

A thoughtful look appeared on Olpara's face. "Last letter I received from Koger was asking for more money. That was the reason I agreed to start dealing with giants."

While Rowan wanted to know more about what had happened to Olpara, she did not ask. The set of the halfling's shoulders told her that she did not want to say anything else.

"Do you want another drink?" Rowan said as she got to her feet.

Olpara nodded, but said nothing else.

* * *

Liman lay under the camouflaged blind, staring down at the Beliard, watching as the people began to settle in for the night. The two women he had been tracking had arrived the day before and appeared content to wait. Obviously they were waiting for someone. Beliard had nothing else to offer the two. He was certain that they were waiting for the elf Paladin.

He wanted to remain where he was, to wait and be certain that he could catch the elf when she came. He also needed to go to Deeppond and see to Ippla. There had been no trail left. Either Ippla had not caught her or he had already killed her. Either way Liman had to know.

"I want you to stay here," he said to Siishi. "Watch, follow if you have to."

"I will," she said from his side.

He nodded, knowing that Siishi would do as he said. He pushed himself out from under the cover of the blind, looked about to make certain that there were no threats, and then he shifted, becoming a red tiger. He swung his huge head back and forth, using his sharper senses to again take stock of the area. A moment later he set off, running towards the High Forest.

Liman had a number of magical items, ones that he could use in any of the forms he might take. The dark bands of fur around his legs were bands of leather -worn around his ankles and wrists-in his human form. They allowed him to move faster than any horse, and on straight paths he could easily pace swift flying eagles.

When the sun began to rise many hours later he was already under the canopy of the High Forest, near the hidden glade that was called Deeppond. He stalked through the underbrush, his dark red coat giving him a surprising amount of camouflage in the deep shadows of the forest.

He stopped, listening, breathing in deeply to bring the scents of the forest into his mouth. Then he returned to his human shape and started walking forward. Within seconds a pair of black wolves had appeared in front of him, barring his way.

"I am here to speak with Ocrast. I am Liman, also called Stealthpaws."

The wolves looked at him for a few seconds, then at each other. A moment later one moved back into the thick, forest brush while the other turned and started towards Deeppond. Liman returned to tiger form and followed.

The sun was only a little higher in the sky when the wolf entered the open area that was Deeppond. A small river plunged over a rocky cliff; the water had carved a deep pool at the waterfall's base. There was less ground cover in the area, but it was not cleared. There were a large number of wolves, some lounging by the river, others sleeping in the large hollow behind the waterfall, and a few on two legs, doing things that a pair of hands was needed for.

Liman shifted to his human form, standing on the edge of the glade, waiting for Ocrast.

The wolf that had led him there continued on, leaping across a set of stones, and moving behind the curtain of water. A short time passed, during which several wolves padded closer to him, taking measure of him. He said nothing; he was a guest there, and not an entirely welcome one.

A very large wolf, black fur, greying about the muzzle, walked out from behind the waterfall. His stride was long and quickly he stood in front of Liman. He shifted, bone and muscle creaking, until a wild haired man stood where the wolf had.

"The Ocrast pack welcomes Liman Stealthpaws to Deeppond," Ocrast said formally.

Liman nodded. "I accept and thank you for your welcome. Malar lend strength to your hunt." The blessing was not required, but that they he worshipped the Beastlord was one of the few things that tied himself and the wolf-changers together.

"Malar lend strength to your hunt," Ocrast replied.

"I am on a hunt," he said plainly, "and one of my pack was to come here to wait if he did not find the prey." Liman saw Ocrast frown slightly. "What is it? Has some offence been given by my follower?" he asked, worried that Ippla had done something to offend the wolves.

"Come. There is something I must show you," Ocrast said, then turned and walked away. "Send Redfur to me," he called out.

Liman followed, wondering why the leader of the wolves seemed so concerned. He suddenly felt that something might have happened to Ippla.

They climbed a narrow path, up the cliff, and then walked across the rocky ground towards the trees. Soon Liman could smell the scent of death and he began to fear for what might have happened to his companion.

Ocrast stopped near a cover made of woven branches. He knelt down and lifted it. There upon the rocky ground lay Ippla, several days dead. Liman dropped to his knees by the body, his hand reaching out towards, but out touching the body.

There were wounds on the body, and Ippla's few possessions lay in a bundle at his feet. Beside him were the weapons that had killed him. Three arrows, one broken near the tip, silver shafts of birch wood, green and black fletching, the tips on the two whole arrows broad and leaf shaped. A badly corroded knife lay beside him as well.

He looked up at Ocrast. "Do you know how this came to be?"

"I will let Redfur tell you. He was the one who found your friend."

Liman nodded and awaited the one called Redfur. The wait was not long, the sun had hardly moved when the young man with red hair approached.

"Redfur," Ocrast said, "tell Liman Stealthpaws how you came to find his friend, Ippla."

Redfur nodded, and then turned to Liman. "I was patrolling the outskirts of the forest when I heard a cry of pain and anger and knew it must come from one like me. I quickly went to where I had heard the cry, hoping to help or avenge, but when I arrived all I found was this one. Of his slayer there was no sign.

"I searched to see what I might find out, but there was little.

"There was an elf, the scent was of an elf, a female I think. Ippla and the elf fought. They traded blows, toe to toe, and then Ippla was badly wounded. He tried to flee, but the elf finished him with arrows. The scents and the tracks told me that.

"The elf approached Ippla, to assure he was dead perhaps. The elf's scent was on Ippla's face. The elf closed his eyes I think, such is the custom among those who are civilized." He said 'civilized' with a tone of disgust.

"How badly was the elf hurt?" Liman asked.

Redfur was silent.

Liman looked up at him. "How badly?"

"There was only a faint smell of the elf's blood. I do not think the elf was hurt very badly at all. The elf must have been a mighty warrior to best one of the tigers."

"Enough Redfur," Ocrast said. "You may go."

The young man nodded, shifted into a red furred wolf and then darted away.

Ocrast knelt down and gingerly picked up the knife. "This is made of silver," he said. "The blade was enchanted so that the silver came free in his body, poisoning his blood. Your prey is ready for you."

"My prey is wise in the way of the changers," Liman told him. "I knew she was dangerous, but Ippla was a blooded warrior. He should not have fallen so easily."

"You must use care on your hunt."

"Your words are wise."

"Do you know the name of this elf?"

Liman nodded. "She is called Misara Dawntide."

Ocrast looked surprised, jerking back slightly as if stung.

"Do you know this name?" Liman asked.

"I know of the elf called Misara Dawntide. There have been times she has called the forest home, and times when she and this pack had come to blows. She has killed many of our warriors in the past. My grandfather fell to her sword fifty winters ago and they say the no wolf changer has been his equal."

Liman considered the pack leader's words, and wondered if he might ask for help, but quickly discarded that notion. The tigers and wolves might meet in peace, but they would not work together well, and the wolf would demand to lead, as was its nature. Liman would not follow a wolf.

"I must go." Liman reached for the bundle by Ippla's feet. "I ask that you place his body somewhere that the birds might feast on it and where his bones might be scattered." He removed a bracelet and a short sword from the bundle. "The rest of this things I give as a gift to the Ocrast pack."

Ocrast nodded. "I shall do as you ask. Good hunting, Liman Stealthpaws. May Malar speed your blows and sharpen your claws."

Liman nodded, and put on the bracelet before shifting to his tiger form. He picked up the sword in his mouth and then sped off, leaping down the cliff side in long bounds, running into the forest, soon leaving Deeppond behind.

* * *

South of Silverymoon was the small town of Lake Edge, one of the Free Towns, populated almost entirely by retired Zhentarim soldiers and their families. Almost two hundred people lived in Lake Edge, fishing and farming for their living.

Etham Lios had lived in Laketown since its founding. At sixty years of age he had led a small group of people looking for a new life to the site. He had been a driving force behind its quick growth, even when his health was failing him. He was almost seventy now, likely near the end of his life.

His home was grand, by the standards of the frontier, two stories, well crafted of wood and stone. It was easily defensible, a place for the villagers to come if ever there was need. Several men guarded it, apparently to keep it safe for such a day.

Inside it was well furnished, with several fireplaces to stave off the chill that the old man felt more and more. He was seated in front the fireplace in the library, surrounded by a collection of books.

While many felt he lived in luxury, Etham could only compare it unfavourably to the townhouse he had left behind in Zhentil Keep. He had been exiled from the city, sent to build a town in the Silver Marches, forever denied the luxuries he had once known. At one time he had hoped to return, but his heart was failing, and an apoplexy had left his left side weak. He did not think he would see the coming summer. He certainly would never return to his home.

"Etham Lios," someone said in a voice he recognised, though the manner of speaking was unknown to him.

Etham turned his head slowly and looked towards the entrance to the library. There stood young Winsen, one of the guards who protected him and his house. It was not Winsen however. He did not stand like Winsen, he wore a grin that would never have graced Winsen's face, and he looked far too intelligent.

"Are you an assassin, here to end my life?" Etham asked, surprised to note that such a thought scared him. Apparently he was not so tired of life as he might think.

"The assassin you should fear is time Etham Lios. I am only here to seek information," the one who looked like Winsen said.

"Information. The most valuable coin, and I will have some of it first. Why take the guise of Winsen?"

For a moment the one who looked liked Winsen said nothing. "I have not taken his guise. I have taken his body."

"I see," Etham said. "A useful ability. It would make you quite the assassin."

Winsen smiled in a way he would never smile. "If I chose such a path."

"What exactly do you wish to know?" Etham felt a small stirring of excitement. For too long he had been ignored, pushed into unimportant postings. Now he was once again part of something that had the potential to mean something.

"I have been told that you are something of an expert on the Paladin Misara Dawntide."

Etham felt a mixture of surprise and disappointment. He had hoped, he realised, that the strange visitor might have been planning something in Zhentil Keep. He would have enjoyed knowing that he was the cause of any problems that might occur at his old home. "Why do you wish to know about Misara?"

"I wish to kill her." It was simply stated, no anger in the voice, just a fact.

Etham began to laugh, he laughed until he began to cough, and he coughed until he was robbed of breath, was doubled over, and could feel tears in his eyes. Finally the coughing passed and he spat something thick into the fireplace before straightening. "You wish to kill her," he said softly, his throat pained by the recent coughing fit. "I had a chance to kill her once. I should have, but I was far too clever for my own good.

"What is one more dead Paladin?" Etham continued. "A good start my superiors said afterwards, but death is so easy." He gripped the right arm of his chair tightly. "I wanted to break her. I wanted to defile and humiliate her and show her and everyone else what the true value of her belief was." Etham began to breathe heavily. "Killing her would have been a kindness to what I had planned for her.

"A full tenday I had her. A tenday." He stared into the fire. "I had broken better than her in half that time, and in the end she was only stronger for all I had done." He released his grip on the chair, the pain in his fingers a far off thing at that moment. Etham turned towards the not-Winsen. "I think she broke me."

"This is all very interesting, but I wish only to kill her."

Etham nodded. "I see." He looked over at one of the nearby shelves. "Those three black and gold books, those are what you want."

The not-Winsen left the threshold where he had stood and walked to the shelf. He pulled one of the books from the shelf and flipped through it. "This will do," he said.

"Your hands are shaking," Etham said.

The not-Winsen looked down at his hands, the tremor making the book shake. "I know," he said as he closed the book and took the other two. "Is this man important to you?"

"Not really. He's just a hired guard. Loyal in his simplicity. Why?"

"He will die. The strain of the possession is already too much for him."

"You are limited in the time you can spend in a borrowed body."

"Yes," the not-Winsen said tightly. "I thank you for these books Etham Lios. Take solace in the fact that Misara Dawntide will be dead soon." He walked from the room.

"I will believe that when her lifeless body is placed at my feet," Etham said quietly. He turned back to the fireplace and wondered what might happen. Lethargy settled on him. For a moment it had seemed that he might be part of things once more, but it had been a false hope. He was old, and the woman he hated was likely unchanged from the days he had held her as his prisoner.

He smiled slightly. As long as Misara lived, someone would remember him when he was at his best. Perhaps the dark memory of that time would grow, like a seed into a tree, and serve to turn her to a darker path.

Suddenly he hoped that she would survive whatever was coming at her, be hurt of course, but survive. She was the only possible legacy that he had left.

* * *

As was always the case, Cirtimin felt the weakness of his body more keenly when he gave up another. Somewhere, hundreds of miles away, the man Winsen would be dying, his body burnt out by the possession. A strong body that was unable to handle the stress Cirtimin's possession put on it.

One day, he thought as he got to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff, he would find a body strong enough to hold his soul. One day he would leave his weak body behind.

He hoped.

Shuffling over to the pedestal in the room, the only piece of furniture in the room other than the chair, he looked down at the three books that lay on it. He opened the top book and looked at the tight, cramped writing within: The history, as much as Etham had been able to find out, about Misara Dawntide. He ran his finger down the page, looking over the notes within.


	10. Stories and Tales

**Chapter 10 - Stories and Tales**  
by Shawn Hagen

The edge of the High Forest came far too soon for Misara. She had travelled from Daetarue in the company of Serdeia, Conkordia and Lindra. They knew the fastest paths in the Forest, the safest, and the more interesting. She had always enjoyed the times she spent with Serdeia and Conkordia, they were, in some ways, like older sisters who had made all the mistakes and were set on ensuring their younger sister made the same ones.

It was the first time she had seen Lindra in an adult role; she was impressed with her daughter's abilities, and again saddened for all that she had missed. At the same time, when night fell and they rested, she held Lindra tight in her arms as they stared up at the stars and Lindra was her little girl again. If only she did not have so many misgivings about her daughter's future and her own shortcomings as a mother.

As always the partings were difficult.

"Where are you going now?" Conkordia asked as she helped Misara don her armour.

"Waterdeep, with a stop at Beliard along the way. Then, likely onto Candlekeep."

"Waterdeep," Lindra said, a wistful tone in her voice. "I would like to go there."

Misara thought for a moment to ask Lindra to accompany her, but she immediately knew that were she to do so, it would be for her own benefit, and not for Lindra's. Lindra did not need to go on an adventure with her mother. She needed far much more.

Serdeia said, "We might take a trip to Skull Port in a season or two."

Skull Port, Misara thought, was hardly a substitute of the City of Splendours. Lindra deserved better than Skull Port. Lindra deserved better in so many things.

Instead of saying anything she brought her fingers to her mouth and then blew out a long, piercing whistle.

"Calling your horse?" Conkordia asked as she turned her attention to filling Misara's pack from Misara's belt-pouch-the magic bag much emptier since she had left Daetarue.

"Yes. He should be here soon." She picked up the saddlebags and walked over to the stump that she had filled several days before. She poured another portion of grain into it, suspecting that Iron would be a little hungry, then returned to help Conkordia with the packing.

Serdeia and Lindra spoke softly about the condition of the forest while Conkordia and Misara worked. Conkordia looked up from the work. "I think your horse may not be coming."

"Iron will come," Misara said as she sealed one of the pockets on her pack. She got to her feet and put her fingers to her mouth again, blowing out another whistle, pitching its tone up and down.

"How do you do that?" Lindra asked.

"Do what?" Misara turned towards her.

"Whistle like that." She put her to her mouth as Misara had and tried to whistle, but the sound was just of air coming from her mouth.

"Pull your lips back over your teeth," Misara said, and then demonstrated. Lindra did so. "Pull your tongue back in your mouth, the tip touching the bottom, behind your teeth. Then put your fingers just in just past your teeth and blow."

Lindra did as she was instructed and blew, with no improvement.

"You'll have to practice. Let me show you again." At least she could do that for Lindra.

The lesson was interrupted a few minutes later by the sound of pounding hooves. Conkordia was the first to see Iron. "That is not a horse," she declared.

"Of course it is a horse," Misara said, whistling again.

"What happened to Snow Lock?" Lindra asked.

"Snow Lock got herself killed by running off a cliff while under the influence of dragon fear. Stupidest horse I ever had."

"Aren't they all," Serdeia said.

"Not Iron," Misara said, watching the horse run straight to the grain and begin to eat. "He'd run from a dragon in a second, but he'd have enough sense to keep from running off a cliff." She approached her horse, looking him over.

"Damn ugly thing," Conkordia commented.

"Oh yes, he certainly is that." Misara was pleased to note that while a little dirty, Iron looked none the worse for the days alone, not that she expected otherwise. He was, for the most part, a wild horse.

She examined his hooves while he ate, checking the steel shoes as well as the condition of each hoof. When she arrived at Beliard she'd have the blacksmith look them over, but they'd be fine until then.

Lindra had approached the horse and was looking at it closely. Iron, who had finished his grain, looked up at the dark elf and snorted at her. "Can I touch him?" she asked.

"Watch him. He's fast and he may bite," Misara said as a warning.

Lindra reached out tentatively and put her hand on his neck. She lightly began to pat him. Iron stood there apparently enjoying the attention. "I like him. You're right, he doesn't look stupid."

"Bad tempered however. He likes elves a little more than most others."

"He has good taste," Conkordia said as she handed the saddlebags to Misara.

She placed her gear onto Iron, then turned and hugged Conkordia. "Take care you everyone while I'm gone."

"You know I will."

She next hugged Serdeia. "Take care of Conkordia."

"I always do."

She turned finally to Lindra. Brushing the pale yellow hair back from her forehead she kissed her. "I love you."

Lindra moved forward and hugged her tightly. "Come home soon mother," she said.

Simple words that held so much weight.

They ended their embrace and Misara shouldered her pack before pulling herself onto Iron's back. Iron turned in a circle, Misara made eye contact with the three dark elves, then she urged Iron into a run. She turned back to wave just before cresting a hill. Flashes of silver from drawn weapons answered her.

Misara smiled when she heard a piercing whistle from the edge of the forest.

"Good girl," she said, then turned Iron around and raced over the hill.

* * *

Onica Jade placed the vial within the light of the floor pattern. "As you requested Mistress."

Asharass stepped to the edge of the pattern, and stared down at the vial. "Tell me of it."

"When Saint Ormas of Ilmater died in the first battle of Sammer Valley his companion, the Knight Resala Twinn, filled an empty potion vial with his blood and a lock of his hair. He then carried this reliquary into the second battle of Sammer Valley. It was said that the vial shone brightly with the light of Ilmater and all those who were good of heart were healed by the power."

"It does not look that impressive," Asharass told Onica.

"No my mistress. It may be that Ilmater has drawn his power from it, or that it takes a believer in the Broken god to call it forth."

"Or that it is a fake."

"That is possible my Mistress," Onica said, "but I think that unlikely."

"Why?"

"After the second battle of Sammer Valley the reliquary was given to Soomin Chai, priest of the Shrine of Ilmater in Everlund. In the two hundred years since the second battle of Sammer Valley the reliquary has only left the shrine three times, each time given to a Champion of Ilmater. All three times the Champion in question returned the reliquary once the quest they were on ended.

"The danger of those quests and their success, in all three cases attributed to the reliquary, makes me certain that the shrine has retained the true vial as sealed by Resala Twinn."

Asharass said nothing and Onica knelt upon the floor, silent, awaiting her mistress' decision.

She understood why Ahsarass was so concerned with the possibility of the reliquary being a fake, but Onica was certain she had stolen the true item from the shrine. Before she had chosen to follow Asharass, Onica had been a Divine Seeker in service to Oghma, the god of Knowledge. She had uncovered many secrets for her church, and she knew how to differentiate between a fake and the genuine article.

The reliquary was real, and Onica knew that Asharass would come to accept that decision as well.

"What will you hunt next?" Asharass asked.

"The temple of Lathander in Marsember is said to have three of the five pieces of the cloth used to bind Lathander's wounds. That is my next destination."

Asharass nodded. "That pleases me dear Onica. Return to me quickly for I do not like to be without your presence."

Onica felt like a cat that had been stroked, it was almost as if she might purr. Bowing down deeply, touching her head to the chamber floor, she said, "It will be as you order, Mistress Asharass."

She got to her feet, her head still low in respect, and she took three steps back before straightening. She turned and walked from the chamber, stopping at the threshold to bow once more.

Onica was a small woman, only a little over five feet in height, and she was half-elven. She came from the Far East, the daughter of a far travelling, elven, adventurer and a Kara-Tur concubine. Her eyes were a deep green, the reason for her last name. Her hair was black and straight, like her mother's. Her skin colour was also that of her mother's people.

Attractive, but not really beautiful, the features of her parents had mixed in her face in such a way that made it seem incomplete. There was a mark of youth on her that made many think she was still an adolescent.

Her thoughts were on Asharass and of her next journey, to far off Cormyr. To steal the three pieces of the binding would be difficult and she would need to plan carefully. And at the same time her mistress had told her to return quickly. She took it as an indication of how much Asharass thought of her abilities.

She was brought out of her musings when she noticed that Cirtimin was leaning against one of the walls, looking drawn and fatigued, as he often did.

"Cirtimin," she said softly, "may I be of aid to you?"

He shook his head. "I thank you for your offer, but this is something I must do on my own."

"You should be willing to take help Cirtimin. You are valuable to Asharass, my Mistress, and I would not see you waste your strength in such matters."

"It is not a waste to me. My mind grows stronger even as my body fails me. To allow my body to grow even weaker would surely do a disservice to Lady Asharass."

Onica bit her lower lip and after a moment nodded. "As you say. I must go, but know that if you ever need my help you have but to ask." She nodded to him, a respectful bow of sorts, and then continued on her way.

* * *

Two days of hard riding had brought Misara to Beliard. She and Iron were splattered in mud. Warm temperatures and rain were beginning to change the frozen roads of the North to the rivers of mud that slowed trade and travel every spring.

Inside the villages things were a little better. Wooden planks had been laid across the road that passed through the village, and old straw tossed down in an attempt to fight the mud. Iron's hooves thumped across the wood as he approached the Watchful Knight.

Misara slid off his back, getting more mud on her in the process, then walked the horse around the side of the Inn towards the stables. A stable boy ran out, dodging between mud puddles, and almost fell over as he slid to a stop close to her. "Want to stable your horse lady?" he asked.

She pulled a few copper coins from the small belt-pouch she wore and tossed them to the boy. "Get me a few buckets of water and some blankets," she told him.

"Right," he said as he pocketed the coins and ran back to the stable.

When he returned Misara used the water to sluice as much for the mud from Iron as she could, then the blankets to rub him dry. "He's going to need a good combing," she told the boy who was carrying the muddy blankets.

"I'll do that," he said.

"Be careful, he can be troublesome. Leave him if he gives you any difficulties." She looked into the other stalls in the stable. She saw Rose Thorn, looking impeccably groomed and perfectly clean. He tossed his head when he saw Misara and snorted. She suspected that he wanted to be off.

The boy opened one of the stall doors and Misara led Iron in. She got a measure of grain from a barrel by the door, filled the small feeding trough with it, and then closed the door. "Be good," she told the horse.

She gave the boy another copper coin, then left the stable, gathering up the things she had removed from Iron's back before washing him. Now it was time to get herself clean and dry.

Slabs of stone covered the floor just beyond the Inn's doorway and a low divider of wood had been set up around it. A signpost requested that all guests clean their boots before entering.

"Clean your boots ma'am?" a young man asked her.

Misara smiled. "You are an enterprising youngster," she told him as she put her right boot upon a simple stand. He took a brush and some water and cleaned most of the mud from the one boot, and then from the other. She tossed him a few copper pieces and then stomped across the stone to shake off the last bits of clinging mud before stepping off the stones and onto the wooden floor.

The Watchful Knight was not very busy, most of the tables sat empty, and only one of the hall's fireplaces had a fire burning within. Misara walked to the bar and placed six silver coins onto the clean and polished surface. The man behind the bar took up a position across from her. "What can I do for you?" he asked, not touching the silver.

"I need a room, a bath, a servant and a hot meal."

He nodded as he reached for the silver and swiped it into his open hand. "What order do you want that in?"

"Bath first."

He nodded again and walked towards a door that led to the kitchen. "Margot!" he called loudly. "Got a job for you."

A few seconds later a woman, probably sixteen or seventeen years old, came from the kitchen. She wore a homespun dress of grey, with a red scarf tied around her waist and another tied around her head, holding her blonde hair from her face.

"Margot, take this lady to the baths, and give her a hand for as long as she's here."

"Yes sir," Margot said, ducking into a slight bow toward the man. Then she came out from behind the bar and bowed again towards Misara. "If you'll come with me Ma'am, I'll show you to the baths."

The baths were fairly simple, several tubs, privacy screens, and a large fire place where water was heated. Margot brought buckets of hot water behind the screen to fill the bath, and then helped Misara with her hair. The girl would never make a decent lady's maid, but she handled her tasks well enough.

Afterwards Margot led her to one of the rooms on the third floor. Misara removed an armour kit from her pack and set Margot to helping her clean her armour. Then they moved onto her other gear. By the time they finished Misara's hands were as dirty as they had been when she had first arrived.

"Take these things to be laundered," Misara told Margot, handling her a bundle of clothing, wrapped in her road stained cloak. "And then bring me some water to wash up with."

"Yes Ma'am," she said with a quick bow, then left the room at a quick walk.

A short time later there was a knock on her door and she heard Rowan call though the door, "Misara, are you in?"

"Yes. Come in," Misara called out.

Rowan pushed open the door and entered the room. "I'm glad you finally made it. I was becoming concerned that I might have to go on without you."

"Have you been waiting long?"

"Six days." Rowan took a seat in one of the room's heavy chairs. "Not that long really."

Misara nodded. "Are you ready to leave tomorrow?"

Rowan smiled. "More than ready. I'm anxious to be on the road again, and, to be truthful, away from this Inn."

"I understand. With luck we can reach Waterdeep before the roads get too bad."

"We are going to have a stretch of clear, cold days which should see us close to Waterdeep. At least that is what Fermas told me."

"Fermas?"

"Woodsman, a druid I think. He claims to have a very good weather sense."

"Well, if he is correct, that is good for us. How did things go at Everlund?"

"Krall, Red, Granson and Ockal were looking for other adventurers to help them track down the giants. They were all well when I left. Midan," she paused, "well, he had this potion, he called it the waters of forgetfulness, from a river called Lethe. He drank some and could not remember anything that had happened for a week."

"So he forgot about his time with the giants?"

"Yes. In a way, it was a good thing. I think that he had been hurt too deeply by what had happened. Now it is just a story that we had to tell him. And yet, well, it seems somewhat cowardly. I know that nothing like that has happened to me," she said quickly, "and maybe I have no right to such a thought, but it what I think."

"There is a bravery of sorts in walking away from a fight that you cannot win. Or if not a bravery, then a wisdom."

"I almost wish Olpara had chosen to follow that path."

"Oh?"

"She has come with me."

For a moment Misara considered asking if that was wise, but chose not to. "How is she?"

"Not well," Rowan said. "Physically she is fine, but what happened out on the moors weighs heavily on her. She did not want to stay in Everlund."

"If she is looking for safety I do not think she will find it with us."

"I know, and I don't think she is looking for safety."

"She wants to prove something to herself?"

"I think so." Rowan nodded. "I don't think she will do anything stupid, but she wants to be certain of herself. I want to help her, but," she paused, "I know that it is her battle to fight."

"Very well. We'll do what we can to aid her. I have seen people who have suffered as she turn to more destructive paths. I would not see that happen if I could stop it." She found herself thinking of Lindra.

"I'm glad that you feel that way."

Misara took a seat on the bed. "I have not been able to find out that much out Asahrass, other than it is a name that is very old, back to the Elven Empires and before the fall of the Netheril Empire."

"That is troubling?"

"There are many things that date from that time, hidden in the vastness of Faerûn. It would be best for everyone if that remained so."

"Do you still wish to go to Waterdeep?"

"Yes. We may be able to find what we seek there, and we can get a ship there to travel south."

"To where?"

"Candlekeep."

"I understand."

"If we do not find the answers we seek there, we will continue on. We can speak more of that later."

Rowan stood, apparently satisfied with Misara's answers. "Shall we have dinner together? The Inn leaves a lot to be desired, but the food is decent enough, and I discovered that Arachar keeps a good wine cellar, if you pester him and have some gold to offer."

"Yes, dinner sounds wonderful. I have a few more things to take care of here, and then I want the blacksmith to look at Iron's shoes, but none of it should take too long."

"Excellent. I shall see you later then." Rowan walked to the door and opened it. "I am looking forward to tomorrow, and our quest."

"Danger faced together is danger lessened," Misara said, quoting a Dwarven proverb.

Rowan nodded and then left the room, closing the door behind her.

* * *

The weather had become cold and clear, and the roads remained easily travelled, for the most part. Misara, Rowan and Olpara were not the only ones taking advantage of what would likely be the last days of easy travel. Caravans were travelling both ways along the road, as well as patrolling soldiers and small groups of adventurers.

The heavy traffic made the roads both safer, and at the same time more dangerous. Small bands of raiders would not dare attacking anyone who looked well armed and numerous, but people and creatures who had the strength to deal with such opposition would see chances for a large haul.

Fortunately such threats were few in number, and only once did Misara and the others ride into battle to help a caravan. The two Paladins had easily been able to scatter the gnolls and bugbears, breaking the momentum of the attack. It had been then that they had learned that Olpara was a practicing sorcerer, and the spell that put a number of their opponents to sleep had given them and the caravan a near bloodless victory.

Several days of hard riding brought them to Amphail Village, only two days from Waterdeep. They took rooms in Mother Gonthol's Feast Hall and settled down for a quiet evening.

They were seated a table, near the stage, relaxing after just having finished an excellent meal. Misara was listening to the three musicians on the stage, tapping her fingers on the table in time to the music, when Olpara asked, "How did you take up the mantle of a Paladin Misara?"

Misara said nothing for a moment, thinking about the question. It had been preying on her mind as of late. "That is not a story I would tell today," she said, and reached for her wine glass.

"Hardly fair," Rowan said. "Now we will be held in the grip of curiosity and will not know rest until you tell us." Her tone was playful.

"They say that suffering is good for the soul," Misara replied with the same tone, and then took a drink of her wine.

"There is a story I know about you," Rowan said. "It will not answer Olpara's question, but it is a good one."

"Please tell," Olpara said.

Rowan smiled, obviously enjoying having become the centre of attention.

"It happened perhaps thirty years ago, near the Sea of Fallen stars, at least that is what Seomon told me."

"I think that I know the story you are about to tell," Misara commented dryly.

"Quiet," Olpara said, shifting closer to Rowan.

Misara sighed and signalled the waitress for another glass of wine.

"Now, Seomon had met the Elven Paladin Misara Dawntide," she nodded towards Misara who raised her neatly empty glass in acknowledgement, "and he had fallen instantly in love with her, or at least was infatuated with her beauty."

"Not uncommon for the followers of Sune," Olpara said.

"Seomon, a young Paladin, still on his first quest, decided that he would travel with the beautiful Misara, to learn what he could, and to stay close to her. I am not certain what the beautiful Misara thought of this..."

"She found him annoying, but well meaning," Misara said.

"...but she allowed him to travel with her," Rowan continued as if Misara had not spoken. "After several months of questing they came upon a number of villages, in lands between the Dalelands and Sembia, but officially claimed by neither. A petty warlord, a rather vile man, had taken control of these villages, making them pay tribute to him under threat of violence.

"Seomon wished to ride in and take the head of this man, who was named Ragalla Twoswords..."

"Twoknives," Misara corrected.

"...but Misara suggested to Semon that they wait and make certain of their actions first. Seomon, still young and a little uncertain, and of course infatuated Misara agreed. He went along while Misara began to speak to people, to seek out those who might rebel against Ragalla Twoknives.

"This did not please Seomon, and after a time he left, leaving Misara behind while he went in search of excitement. He had promised Misara that he would not act against Ragalla until she said it was time, but he had no interest in skulking about in shadows and playing political games, as he described it.

"Over the next two years Seomon Westride would gain fame in Cormyr, the Dalelands and Sembia for his actions, as well as enemies south of the Moonsea. He destroyed two warlords like Ragalla, helped slay a blue dragon in the Dragon Spine Mountains, countered several Zhentarim plots and was knighted by the King of Cormyr. An impressive list of accomplishments for a young Paladin."

"What about Ragalla?" Olpara asked.

"Ah yes. Ragalla. Well, with a group of rebels Misara led an attack against Ragalla and his small army, overthrowing the petty warlord, and putting a popular and good leader in his place. Several years later the villages were made part of Sembia, for good or ill."

"Mostly ill," Misara said softly, taking a drink from the glass of wine the waitress had just put on the table.

"Seomon and Misara met again and once more adventured, but to be truthful Seomon now thought less of Misara than he had when he first met her. He thought his accomplishments were of greater importance, and he felt that he was the superior Paladin."

"And poor Misara was completely ignorant of this fact." Misara said.

"Yes, that is what he thought. He also thought that Misara's quiet way of doing things was a mistake. If evil did not know you were out there evil would think it had free reign, as Seomon liked to say."

"What do you think?" Olpara asked Rowan.

"I think there is value in anonymity," she paused, "but it might be mistaken by some as fear."

Misara was a little surprised to hear Rowan make such a statement, and she considered it.

"Well, whatever the case," Rowan continued, "Seomon and Misara eventually went their separate ways, and Seomon eventually took on a young, beautiful and brilliant young woman named Rowan Jassan as a squire and taught her what she needed to be a Paladin. He also told her stories of a companion of his from long before, an elf named Misara Dawntide.

"An interesting thing to note is that one of the petty warlords he had vanquished while Misara was dealing with Ragalla was replaced by a much worse person. The territory of the dragon he had killed became the territory of a tribe of orcs, who were much more destructive. And he often had to deal with assassination attempts directed from Zhentil Keep.

"Seomon pointed out to his young squire that one had to give thoughts to their actions and there were times that taking the time to make certain that the destroying one evil does not lead to the raising of another was necessary."

"So it is just an example of the different way that elves and human view things?" a man who sat by a table near them asked. When Rowan turned a surprised gaze at him he held up his hands and said, "I'm sorry, I could not help but listen."

"Well, I'm not really certain," Rowan admitted. "I still can't say that I understand everything that Seomon tried to teach me." She looked over at Misara.

"Seomon did not tell you the entire story, or you have chosen to leave some things out," Misara said. "And the lesson he wanted you to learn from that story has perhaps been exaggerated for effect. There is more to it, different levels. Levels that anyone might learn from."

"Care to explain that?" Rowan had picked up wine glass; ready to moisten her throat if Misara was going to take up the story.

"When the warlord who was worse than the one that Seomon had defeated came to power, it was only weeks before Seomon was back there, putting the man and his followers to the sword. He led a small force against the orcs, driving them away. He acted quickly, with little thought, as he had the first times. However, afterwards, he went to work to make certain that his actions would not cause more problems.

"He found leaders to take over for the warlord, he even spared some of the warlord's men, if they swore to follow the new leader. He found benevolent creatures, ones that the local villages might negotiate with, to take over the territory that he had driven the orcs from.

"As for the assassination attempts, he would say, I think, that every assassin following him is one not attempting to take the life of one who could not fight back.

"Seomon learned what I tried to teach him well, and has improved upon those lessons."

"And what can you learn from that story?" Olpara asked.

The nature of the question, and the tone that Olpara asked it in, appeared to surprise some of the people who had gathered to listen.

Misara said nothing for a few seconds as she gave it some thought. "What it teaches me is that Seomon chose a course of action that was far more difficult, and required more work on his part. It also reminds me that a Paladin should not be afraid of such work. More often that not, for one who chooses to follow the path of a Paladin, immediate action is for the best.

"I tried to teach Seomon that the consequences of one's actions must be considered."

"And what he taught me, and," Rowan looked over at Misara, "you, is that sometimes it is that you can and should consider the consequences, but do not let that stop you from acting."

"Yes," Misara said.

"So," the man who had first spoken said, "you were wrong?" He looked at Misara.

Misara almost laughed at that. She wanted to shout out, 'About too many things.' She nodded, and then smiled. "It is never too late to learn a lesson. As Lady Rowan once said to me, Wisdom is not only the purview of the aged, and those who have seen many years pass are often blind to the new."

The people who gathered nodded at that, and a few offered Rowan congratulations. Misara watched, and thought about the boy Seomon had been when she had first met him. She liked to think that she had helped shape the man and Paladin he had become. Now she was no longer so sure.

Several stories later, after a few hours had passed, the common room began to empty as people started toward their rooms. Rowan took Misara aside and said, "I'm sorry that I drew such an audience. I know you like to keep a low profile."

"It's alright," Misara told her, thinking about her future. "In fact, it might be time I started allowing my name to become more widely known."

Rowan looked at her with a puzzled expression.

Misara smiled and placed a companionable hand on the woman's shoulder. "Do not worry, and get some rest. We leave before sunrise tomorrow."

* * *

Liman watched the human village become dark as lights in the windows went out. The sounds of conversation and music faded, until it was almost silent. The watchmen wandered the perimeter, carrying bright lanterns, calling out that all was well. He could sweep down on them and end their lives, silence their calls in their throats before any alarm could be raised.

Of course that would not help him get to Misara. Killing the watchmen would only get him in the village undetected. Entering the building in which she stayed would be much more difficult to do without giving himself away. He would take her by surprise if he could.

He had been concerned after finding Ippla dead, and what the wolves at Deeppond had told him. After watching her for the past few days, watching her fight, he knew he was right to be wary. She was a skilled warrior and killing her would be difficult. He would kill her though. He had no doubt of that.

"Elves sleep with their eyes open," Siishi said.

Liman looked over at his companion. She had shifted to her human form to speak with him. She crouched just behind him, naked but for her long hair. "I know, but their sleep is still sleep. They are no more aware than a human with closed eyes."

"But how would you know?" she asked him. "You could stalk up on an elf, certain she slept her elf sleep, only to be tricked. Once you were close, the elf could spring a trap."

"That is so, which is why there is danger in this hunt."

"How will we take her?"

"I do not know," he admitted. "We will continue to watch until the best way to hunt presents itself."

"She listens to her horse, as does the human woman."

"What?"

"She knows that her horse can read the scents on the wind. She takes cues from it. The human woman as well, perhaps even better."

Liman considered that. "I wonder if that gave her an advantage over Ippla?"

Siishi did not answer. She had returned to her tiger form, the white of her fur hiding her well in what little snow remained and the winter washed plants.

Liman turned back to the village. A time would come when he might attack. He had to watch and wait for it. If he made a mistake Ippla's fate might befall him and Liman had no intention of letting such a thing happen to him.


	11. Swords

**Chapter 11 - Swords**  
by Shawn Hagen

The sun was still several hours from setting, and they were only two hours away from Waterdeep. Warm weather had begun to melt the icy roads, but with the city so close the cloying mud was hardly a concern. The merchants they passed might have been grousing about the fickleness of the Lady Tymora, but for Misara, Rowan and Olpara it was wonderful weather for the last leg of their current journey.

For Misara it was a chance to lose herself in companionship of a journey, and for a time think of other things.

Rowan and Misara had been discussing places to stay for almost an hour, comparing the amenities of this festhall, or that Inn with another.

"I always enjoyed the comforts of the Topaz Flower," Misara told her companion. "A little on the small side, certainly, but not really a bad thing."

"I believe that you might find it changed."

"Oh?"

"A year ago, I think, it was purchased by a suspected follower Lovitar. The pleasures it deals in these days are not for everyone."

"Pity, it was a nice place."

"I still say that The Pampered Traveller is a good choice."

"There are times that I find the Castle Ward a little too constraining."

"Excuse me," Olpara said, "do you mind if I ask a question?"

Misara turned to face Olpara. Olpara rode, sidesaddle, upon a large gelding, speckled grey in colour.

"What is it?" Rowan asked.

"Is it common for Paladins to take such concerns in matters of comfort?"

Rowan laughed. "Well, it depends on the Paladin in question. I myself find nothing wrong in wanting to be surrounded by beautiful things and comfort. It always reminds me what I fight for."

"I suppose that many Paladins take on a life of greater privation," Misara told her, "and for many good reasons. Some feel that seeking out such pleasures might weaken them, and there is some truth to such a concern. Many are the tales of a Paladin who found the temptations of such a life too much to resist. However I feel that most such tales are actually apocryphal and function as warnings.

"There are those that feel hard living keeps them sharp and ready for battle. Others would rather donate their money to their churches, or other good causes."

"And some are simply not much fun," Rowan added.

"So why do you seek out such comforts? I can understand Rowan's choice, one might almost see it as proper worship after all."

Rowan laughed again and Misara nodded before saying, "Comforts do not take my edge off, perhaps they even help me maintain it. A brittle sword sharpens easily, but chips and breaks. As for saving money for good causes, well, the people who run those festhalls and Inns have employees and suppliers to pay as well as families to support. I have given greatly to good causes and feel no guilt in also spending money that simply helps society to function.

"And you have to remember, there is nothing wrong with enjoying yourself."

"No matter what some people might tell you," Rowan added.

"In moderation," Misara countered.

"Oh yes," Rowan sighed theatrically, "moderation."

Olpara smiled and then laughed. "And I thought travelling with a pair of holy Paladins would be dull."

* * *

The Pampered Traveller turned out to be the Inn where the three women chose to stay once reaching Waterdeep. Not that they took advantage of its luxuries, other than a quick bath.

Rowan left to visit the Temple of Beauty in the Sea Ward. Olpara had friends to meet in the Trade Ward. Misara had business of her own and did not expect to be back until much later.

The sun was low in the west, casting long shadows, as Misara exited the Pampered Traveller, feeling in good spirits. She carried little with her having left most of her things in her room. Expensive Inns and festhalls tended to offer, along with enjoyments, very good security for their patrons.

She wore loose, black pants of black silk, tucked into her a pair of knee high walking boots made of soft, tanned leather, and a red leather vest over a silk blouse. Her weapon belt rode low on her left hip, her sword worn at the ready.

Misara was vigilant as she walked the city streets. Four decades past she had lived in the City of Splendours for three years and she had known it from the mansions of the rich to the tunnels of the Undermountain. But it had changed since those days, she herself had been an agent of some of the change, and she did not delude herself that the time she had spent in the city since then, a few weeks, mostly a few days, kept her abreast of what occurred there.

Lack of knowledge could be a deadly thing.

Not that she thought it was likely she would be jumped while on the city streets. She was just careful.

The sun had set as she stepped onto the Street of Silks, a district that catered to the wealthier members of the city's society. The street lamps had already been lit, though the sun was just down, and with the evening many people set out to find entertainment. Greengrass was only three days away and many people looked as if they planned to start celebrating at little early.

She walked at a more sedate pace, enjoying the sights and the sounds around her. She politely declined several invitations to join in some form of merriment or other, and stopped occasionally to look at the display cases in front of a few stores that had not yet closed for the evening.

She was near the middle of the street when she stopped in front of a tall, narrow house, situated between a tavern and a curio shop of some kind. The house, like most of the buildings along the street, was well constructed, of fine timber and stone masonry. There were even large, leaded glass windows, but a thick coat of dust on the inside only showed the glow of lights within. There was a sign over the front door, indicating that it had likely been a shop at one point, but the wooden sign was painted over in black.

Misara wondered if the people who passed it even noticed it. She opened the front door, stepped in and then closed it behind her. She looked around, marvelling at the changes since she had last entered.

There were no longer any floors above her, she could see the timbers of the roof, and a few platforms that were connected to the stairs that still led up to what had once been the second, third and forth floors. Panels had been cut from the roof, sheets of glass put in their place.

Once wood panelling had covered all the walls, but that had been stripped away-likely at the same time the walls removed-and the naked beams and interior stonework polished until it shone.

The first floor was, as it had been last time, littered with tables, alchemical apparatus, easels, bookshelves, chairs, an upended couch, paper and much more. There was even a forge at the far side of the room, but it was cold.

The house's owner, Celeb Argyros, stood near one of the tables, his long silver hair pulled back from his face, working with one of the alchemical devices. She crossed the floor, stepping around various obstructions, until she stood close to the table.

Celeb appeared to be elvish, with the pale skin and silver hair that would have made him a moon elf like Misara, were he actually elvish. Misara had no idea of his true race nor was she concerned. He was focused on his craft, and perhaps amoral to the extreme, but he was not evil. And he was a friend.

He wore thick glass goggles, a leather apron over rumpled clothing, and heavy, leather gloves. She watched in interest as he used a pipette to remove some clear liquid from a beaker and then placed the beaker carefully aside. He put a small plate of silver metal in front of him and then reached out to activate a magical timepiece. Misara had watched him work before and knew what the various objects he used were.

As soon as he activated the timepiece he let the liquid run out of the pipette onto the metal plate. It hissed and bubbled, sending up wisps of smoke as it did so. Misara took a step back, wary of the powerful acid, but Celeb simply watched, apparently unconcerned. When the timer chimed he took a handful of powder from another beaker and then poured it from his gloved hand onto the metal.

"Acid etching is the best way to properly mark my weapons," he said, turning to face her as he pulled off his gloves.

"So you have said."

"The problem being of course," he brushed the powder from the metal with his now bare fingers, "is that to properly etch the materials I chose to use requires a very strong acid." He picked up the metal plate and looked at it. "Were it otherwise I could just go to any alchemist for my needs." He handed the metal to Misara.

Misara looked at the metal-she suspected it was mithral-and noted that the acid had brunt a shallow mark into the material. "If not an alchemist, then who?"

"Well, I did get the acid I required from a black dragon. A rather unpleasant fellow named Demara. He inconvenienced me to no end when he let a group of adventurers kill him."

"I have found that black dragons can be most inconsiderate like that." She placed the metal back on the table.

"Yes," he nodded, "it is in their nature. Fortunately I found another source, which I shall not name in case you feel the need to go and kill this black dragon."

"Perish the thought," she said with a smile.

"I think not. Dragon Slayer is a moniker you have earned a few too many times. That aside, this new acid is stronger than that Demara gave me. I've been having no end of trouble getting the mix and time right to ensure the etching is perfect. I'm almost there however."

"Good to hear. How is the sword coming along?"

He smiled. "Let me show you," he said, "This way."

Misara followed him across the room until they stood by one of the easels. He flipped a piece of paper over, revealing a picture of a sword on the sheet behind. Misara looked at it for a moment and then said, "To be honest, I don't see any differences from last time I looked at it."

"Of course not. You are a pedantic Paladin with no real appreciation of a sword beyond what you can kill with it."

"Pedantic Paladin," she said thoughtfully. "I like the alliteration. May I use that?"

"If you wish."

"Now, tell me what I have missed."

"Take note of the quillions, they have been adjusted back towards the pommel by two degrees."

"Imagine me missing that," Misara said sarcastically. "It will change the balance of the weapon."

He nodded. "It will help to counter the weight of the blade, not very much mind you, but enough. It will be a fast sword."

"When do you think you will finish it?"

"Three years. By the end of Flamerule. Barring the unforeseen."

Misara looked at the sword sketched out on the paper. It was a hand and a half sword, with thick quillions and a waisted-grip. Double sided, a gem set in the blade just above the cross. Two fullers ran down the middle of the blade, and between the fullers were a series of indistinct Elvish runes.

"Do you know what it will say?" she placed her hand on the writing.

"Not yet," he shook his head. "It becomes clearer though."

Misara had met Celeb ninety-six years ago, and in that time she had watched him, over the course of decades, make two swords. The one on the paper would be his third. She had realised that he was not so much a sword smith or a master crafter-though likely he had been at one time-but a conduit for powers greater than himself.

Gods used Celeb to create weapons for their champions.

He looked away from the sheet and towards her. "Tell me that you have come for her."

She nodded.

"It is about time," he said with a smile. "She grows tired of you ignoring her, and I can't say that I am pleased about it myself." He turned away from her and walked towards the forge. From a shelf by the wall he removed a case of darkly stained wood, nearly as long as the span of his arms. He returned to where she waited and placed it on a nearby table. With a flourish he flipped open the case.

Within was a sword, next to it a sheath, both set in the black velvet lining of the case.

Misara reached in and took the blade by its hilt and then raised it out from where it had rested. It was the sword that Celeb had given her when she had first met him. A sword meant for her, and only her. It would not survive her death, he had told her, and Misara believed him.

It was a long sword, though the blade was both a little wider and longer than in most such weapons. The twin edged sides ran almost parallel until they reached the slightly rounded tip. The hilt was made of a black wood, gently curving, long enough to allow her to use two hands if she chose, but it was easily wielded in one hand. It was a little like the tai-chi swords from far off Kara-Tur.

It was a beautiful weapon, made of mithral, marked with acid etched runes. Although heavier than similar swords, it was balanced perfectly and would move fast.

To Misara it was not as if she were holding a sword, but as if it were an extension of her body. It was likely she was.

"Five times," Celeb said.

"Excuse me?" She looked over at him.

"Five times I have given her to you, and five times you have returned her."

She nodded and reached for the sword's sheath. "When I hold this sword I feel as if there is nothing I cannot do." She slid the weapon into its sheath.

"There probably is nothing you cannot do when you hold her," he said.

"That is even worse." She placed the sheathed sword on the table and then removed her weapon belt.

Celeb shook his head and reached for the case that had recently held the sword. He closed it and put it aside. Misara removed the long sword from her weapon belt, put it aside, and then set about setting her sword in its place.

Celeb reached forward and picked up the long sword and pulled it from its sheath. "Dwarven make," he said as he examined the blade. "Holy sword, alloy steel, mithral for strength, silver for colour."

"Its name is Graceful Steel," Misara told him. "It was used by Ocram Grace, Paladin of Tyr. Forged about one hundred and fifty years ago."

"The runes have been carved into the blade with a chisel," Celeb said. "The maker went too deep, altered the balance of the blade. Careless."

"I can't say that I ever noticed." She finished affixing the sheath to her weapon belt.

"Liar."

"Why am I a liar?" she asked as she put her weapon belt back on.

"If you never noticed you would never have come back here for her," he told her, looking at the sword she wore at her side. "This is, for the most part, a fine blade, though I am loathe to admit it."

She nodded after a moment. "I think I'm going into great danger. I need Ree'anor." There was more to her choice, but at the moment she could not voice the words.

He nodded as he sheathed Graceful Steel and then tossed it back to her. "I won't take her back a sixth time."

"I could just toss her into the ocean afterwards."

"She will come back to you. Of course I'd rather you did not toss her into the ocean."

Misara laughed. "We'll see what happens." She looked down at the long sword she held. "I have to go." She looked back at him. "My apologies."

He waved the apology off. "No matter. I have work to do, as do you."

"Thank you Celeb."

"You are welcome," he told her as he turned back towards the table he had been working at earlier. "Now get out of here."

"Until we meet once more," she said as she turned to leave.

Celeb muttered a farewell of his own and Misara smiled as she walked from the house.

* * *

"I do not like these," Siishi said, waving her arms up and down. "It is like wearing bindings."

Liman was careful not to sigh. The dress that Siishi was wearing was of elven make and design, the kind of garment that might be called indecent in some places. As it was he suspected that Siishi would be drawing a few stares when they entered the city, but less comment and interest than she would if naked. "We need to fit into the city. We must wear the clothing."

He was dressed in a tasteful suit of dark clothing, breaches, a shirt and a jacket, as well as a good, sturdy set of boots. He had even managed to replenish his supply of cigars. Liman was as comfortable in such clothing as he was naked, or in the skin of a tiger.

Unfortunately he knew that Siishi was not. A fact he often considered strange given her background. He watched as she removed the soft shoes he had brought her and knew that he would not convince her to wear them.

"We could wait for her to come out of the city," Siishi said, throwing the shoes aside.

"And what if she takes a boat out onto the ocean."

Siishi frowned and did not reply.

Liman picked up a wide brimmed, straw hat and placed it on her head, shifting it so that the brim shaded her gold eyes. "Let's go."

* * *

Several hundred miles south of Waterdeep, deep in the dungeons of Baldur's Gate, a half-orc named Kesk Hornskull grasped the rocky walls of his prison and lifted his body into the air. It was the one hundred and sixty seventh time he had done so since he had started a short time before.

He lowered himself slowly until his feet almost touched the ground of his cell, and then he pulled himself up once again: One hundred and sixty eight.

Kesk had been born from the harsh environment of the North. He was tall, and broad across his shoulders, heavily muscled. Like his kin he had greyish skin, a sloping forehead, and a wide face with a flat nose. His teeth were prominent and the tips of his lower canines jutted out above his lips.

He was naked, but for a raggedy loin cloth and an equally ragged patch he wore over his left eye.

For a long time he had been imprisoned in the oubliette in one of the lowest dungeons of the city. Almost thirty feet above him was the thick, iron gate that sealed off the hole he lived in. He could cross the floor of the oubliette, at its widest point, in two paces. The lowest part of the cell had a hole that drained off water and other things, as well as giving insects and rats entry.

Kesk did not mind the vermin, more than once he had survived off of them.

He had been thrown into the hole to die. When he finally did a new prisoner would be tossed down there, perhaps not right away, but eventually. The bones of the last prisoner had greeted Kesk when he had been tossed down.

They wanted him to die, but he refused to. He ate the food that was tossed down, drank the water that was lowered in a bucket, and when they forgot him he ate rats and bugs and drank the trickles of water that seeped out of the stone.

When he was not asleep he exercised, as he was at that moment, pushing his body until he fell into an exhausted sleep. In the small space of two paces he practiced combat drills.

The guards sometimes watched, sometimes laughed at him, threw things down at him. He said nothing to their taunts, simply continued his drills, ready for the day he would escape. He was certain that he would one day. He refused to die in the cell.

One hundred and ninety seven.

"Kesk Hornskull," a voice called from above.

Kesk paused, holding himself perfectly still near the top of the repetition. He had not heard his name used in a long time. The guards simply called him prisoner, when they called him anything at all.

"Do not tell me that Kesk Hornskull has died," the voice said.

He had heard that voice before, he thought, one of his guards. Had they come to taunt him again? Then he heard a click. As he hung there it took him several seconds to realise that the grate far above him had been unlocked. Before he could consider what that meant he heard the screech of rusted iron and knew that his prison was being opened. Would they toss another prisoner down? Did they think he had died?

Something was tossed down. A torch. It hit the floor in a shower of sparks, flickered as if it would go out, and then began to burn brightly again. He blinked against the brightest light he had seen since being thrown down there.

"I see you Kesk Hornskull," the voice came down to him. "We need to talk."

There was a slithering noise as a rope was tossed into the cell. Kesk released his hold on the wall and walked over to the thick, hemp rope. He gave it a pull and it did not move. It was secured somewhere up above him.

He climbed quickly, well-conditioned muscles pulling his heavy frame up the rope and soon out of his cell. He found one of the guards standing there, holding a sword. He was holding it by the blade, the hilt extended towards Kesk.

Kesk reached out and took it.

"I thought you might feel better if armed," the man said.

Kesk tried to speak, but he made a croaking sound, his voice had been unused for such a long time. He tried again. "Who are you?" he managed with a raspy sound.

"I am the man who is freeing you so that you might get your revenge on the Paladin Misara Dawntide."

The half orc reached out and grabbed the man by his shoulder. "The elf?"

"Yes. She was the one responsible for capturing you and turning you over to the authorities here. You had reason to hate her before. Six years of imprisonment should give you even more."

"Six years?" He found it hard to comprehend. Had he really been locked up for six years?

"Six years," the man said once more.

Six years. He had not known. There was no way to keep time down in the oubliette, no sun to mark the days, not even set time for meals. He had known it had been long, but he had never assumed six years. Six years of his life, spent locked up in the dungeon, six years that he would never get back. The leather bindings around the sword he held creaked under the pressure his grip.

"Let's go. We should be clear of this place as soon as we can." Kesk's liberator walked away.

There was much that Kesk wanted to ask, but he could not think of how to put it into words. Too long had it been since he had last talked to someone, the words did not come easily to his mind. So he followed, thinking that eventually he would have the answers he sought.

Together they passed through the quiet dungeons, sometimes passing by a sleeping guard. His rescuer was approaching a door when he suddenly collapsed heavily to his knees. Kesk moved forward and pulled the man up. He saw that a thin sheen of sweat covered the man's face, and he was shaking slightly.

"Do not die on me man," he croaked.

The man laughed. "This body will certainly die." He straightened. "Before that happens I will ensure you are free of this place." He unlocked the door and opened it.

"I will take you to an old escape tunnel," the man told Kesk some time later. "At the end of it you shall find weapons, armour, a small store of supplies and funds. There is also a scroll there in which you will find the information you need."

"The elf?"

"She is in Waterdeep, but I do not think she will stay there."

"I want her."

"You shall have your chance," he said, swaying slightly.

"When?"

The man did not answer. He stopped by a wall and ran his hand along it. There was a 'click' and part of the wall swung open. "Down there Kesk, down there you will find what you need." And then he fell to the ground.

Kesk had seen enough dead bodies to know one. He looked about, then grabbed the man and dragged him through the secret door before sealing it. He stripped anything of value from the body and then set off down the tunnel.

At the end of the tunnel, as promised, he found weapons, armour and other supplies, as well as another secret door that, he saw when he opened to peer out, led into a busy part of the lower city. After closing the secret door he put the armour on, adjusting it for a better fit. It was a familiar feeling, and a comforting one. He pulled a great sword from its sheath and swung it about in the small room, getting a feel for it.

Grounding the tip between his feet, he grasped the quillions tightly. "Gruumsh, I have not prayed to you in a long time," he said slowly, picking his words with care. "I would not let you see me as a prisoner, fallen low to my enemies. Now I have escaped and I ask for your strength. I will kill the Elf in your name." He reached down and grasped the naked blade, cutting open his hand. "By my blood I swear it."

* * *

Misara was secretly amused to have been greeted by the Temple Warden's assistant. The priests and acolytes of the temple of Tyr, the Halls of Justice, were busy preparing for the Greengrass festival. The only person who could spare the time to speak to the elven Paladin who had come to their doors was a somewhat junior priest.

Restmar Orgess had come to the small audience chamber, a notebook in his hands, appearing as if Misara was just one more job that he did not have time for. He was unfailingly polite of course, and he was respectful of the position that Misara held, even if she was not of his church, but he was obviously distracted. At least he was until Misara presented Graceful Steel to him.

She had stopped on the way to the temple and picked up some dark blue cloth to wrap the sword in. Presentation was important as well.

Restmar picked up the sword and drew it partway from its sheath. "Graceful Steel," he said softly. "Forged by the master sword smith Khondou Steelhammer, dedicated to both Tyr and Moradin, wielded by Ocram Grace."

"Do not forget the magic placed into it by Araselle, or that she was the one who convinced Khondou to forge it for Ocram in the first place."

"I did not know that Araselle Grace did such a thing," he admitted, looking up for the sword.

Misara nodded. "I suppose it gets lost in the rest of the tale, but it is important to remember. It was the first time she put off the marriage, telling Ocram that if she could get him a sword powerful enough to slay the demon Wegollis they would travel to deserts of Amn and hunt him out, putting the wedding off to another day."

Restmar looked as if we were trying not to smile. "The tales of Lady Araselle before she married are looked upon with some disfavour by the leaders of the church."

"If the tales are to be believed she was a wild one, but telling tales of Araselle is not why I came here. As I said, I have a gift for the church, and Graceful Steel is it."

"So you said, and I am having difficulty understanding it. Where did you find it? According to the histories the sword was lost when Ocram fell in Hellgate Keep."

"Before the keep was destroyed the baatezzu often traded with those outside. I suspect that was how the sword left the keep. How it ended up as part of a wizard's treasure in Sembia I do not know, but that is where I found it.

"Graceful Steel has served me well since it came into my hand, but now I return it to Tyr's followers."

"You must allow me to reward you. Let me summon the high priest so he can properly thank you."

"There is no need for that. I did not come here seeking a reward, and you have thanked me enough by your intentions." She got to her feet. "I hope we may meet again."

He quickly got to his feet and then bowed deeply. "Lady Dawntide, the church of Tyr owes you much and hopefully you will allow us to repay you one day."

Misara smiled as him, then turned and left the audience room on her way out of the temple. She felt a little guilty at Restmar's words. Her actions were not as noble as he thought they were. One day she would ask them to recognise her daughter and guarantee the church's justice and protection for her. And, a small voice spoke in the back of her mind, one day Graceful Steel may not recognise you as an unworthy wielder.

Part of her wanted so badly to ignore that voice.

She left the temple, stepping out into a cool night. There were less people about then when she had entered. She wandered the streets, enjoying the cool air and the peace that the evening brought. Her next destination was the Hall of the Seldarine, the Elven Temple in Waterdeep, but she was in no rush. She wanted to reach the temple when the moon was at its highest point.

The night deepened around her, and while spring was close it was cold. Misara hardly felt it, and the dark was not an impediment to her. She wandered a little, enjoying the empty streets and deserted squares. It was, at times, as if she were alone in the city. It helped her to spark the connection to the city that she had once felt. For a time she was able to put other concerns away.

Misara was feeling fairly good when the attack came. A man slipped out of the shadows and charged at her, a pair of blackened daggers in his hands. Her right hand dropped to the hilt of her sword, and she was ready to step back and draw the blade. Instead, gripped by a sudden urge, she leapt at him, directly at his blades.

A moment before the blades would have pierced her breast she lowered her head and dipped her shoulders. The twin blades slid along the leather of her vest, perhaps cutting it, but not her. She clipped him, about his waist, meaning to knock him down and then step over him. Instead the man went flying back, sailing through the air for several body lengths before he hit the ground, the back of his head rapping up against the cobble stone street with a 'crack'.

Misara had forgotten her increased strength and it was possible that she had killed the man when she had not meant to do so. She put that thought from her mind, continuing her forward motion, drawing her sword, and then turning about, settling into a fighting stance.

She found herself facing three more assailants, dressed and armed in the same manner as the first attacker; they had been behind her but a moment before. They seemed, for the moment, off balance. Perhaps they had expected her to back into their blades, or they had not expected their companion to be taken down so quickly.

"I want you to throw down your weapons and surrender," Misara told them, hoping to take advantage of their surprise. "Barring that, turn and leave this place. I do not wish to harm you."

The three, a woman with two men flanking her, seemed to be spurred by her words. They approached quickly, she could see the discipline in their style, and that they had trained in a co-operative combat style. As the woman slashed towards Misara with her daggers, the two men shifted their weapons to defend her. One attacked, two defended. The attacks shifted from one to the other, with no apparent pattern, forcing Misara to maintain a defensive posture.

Even as she fell back she called out loudly for the guards, hoping to bring the authorities there before she was forced to kill her attackers, or before they might kill her. There were, after all, laws in the city, and she would respect and uphold them to the best of her ability.

As they came at her Misara used her sword to drive the daggers aside, knocking them off true and trying to break their pattern so they might interfere with one another. Her wrist and to a lesser extent her elbow directed the weapon, not as powerful as movements from the shoulder, but so very fast.

Fast as it was the stabbing daggers slid over and around her sword, scratching her skin, cutting the sleeves of her blouse, and sometimes the skin beneath. She hoped that the blades were not envenomed. She would not have time until the battle was over to pray for the power to neutralize any poison that might be in her system.

She had been pushed back the street nearly thirty steps when the man to her left over extended himself slightly in his attack. She feinted to her right, drawing the blades of the woman to the defence of her companion, then swung the sword around and slashed under the guard of the attacker on her left, the blade cutting into his hip.

There was a spray of blood, her sword cutting much deeper than she had expected. It had nothing to do with her strength, Misara thought as she spun to the right, batting aside the daggers from the remaining two assailants. She had forgotten just how sharp Ree'anor was, having grown used to the edge of other blades.

Stepping forward, catching woman's daggers with her sword, Misara pushed her back, then dropped and swept the legs from the man. She completed her spin and stood, lashing forward with her blade as she did so. One of the woman's daggers went spinning off into the night.

Then there was a bright ring of light around them, lanterns held by members of the city watch. Misara backed away from the man and the woman, and lowered her sword.

* * *

In a dark corner Liman watched as the guards led Misara and her attackers away. He had come upon the Paladin not long before, but at the same time he had realised that others were stalking her. He had chosen to wait and to watch.

The fight had been illuminating, to say the least. The Paladin was a skilled warrior. Little wonder the wolves of Deeppond were so wary of her, or that Ippla had met his end facing her.

And yet at the same time he had seen a weakness that he might exploit.

"She fights with her head and not her heart," he said aloud.

"You are wrong," Siishi said from beside him.

He turned and looked at his companion. "Explain."

"She charged the first attacker. That was an act of instinct."

Liman thought about that for a time, and then nodded. It was not the first time Siishi had seen something he had missed, appreciated the significance of something he dismissed. "That may be so, but she still will be weak in a fight against someone or something not using a style she can predict."

"Why did they try to kill her?" Siishi asked.

"I suspect they were paid assassins."

"Who paid them?"

Liman considered the question. "She may have other enemies."

"And it might be the Oil and Steel man's doing."

"What is it that could worry him so that he sends us and assassins after her?" He reached into jacket he wore and removed a cigar. "Assuming that they were sent by him."

"He's afraid of her." Siishi crouched down, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "The Oil and Steel man is a afraid of her."

"He may not be afraid of her," Liman said as he set about lighting his cigar, a laborious task involving flint and a bit of tinder.

"We should be wary. She knows she is being hunted."

Liman nodded. "We will be, and if others seek her death as well, then perhaps we need not even confront her. For now we'll watch and learn. I will not strike until I am certain of my prey."

Siishi nodded but did not say anything. She pulled the hat he had placed on her head down further over her eyes and shifted deeper into the shadow.

* * *

The palace of Piergeiron the Paladinson, the only open Lord of Waterdeep, offered many comforts for those who lived in it and those who were guests. The small parlour where Misara waited was pleasant enough, with a few chairs, a chaise lounge, a low table and a cabinet with a glass door. The cabinet held a wide variety of wine and spirits, as well as glasses, and a silver-bucket-obviously enchanted-that held ice. On the table was a tea service.

Misara had looked through the cabinet, but in the end had chosen to restrict herself to the tea.

She had been brought to the palace soon after the watch had taken her into their custody. It had not taken long for her to go from a possible prisoner to a respected guest. She had been asked a few questions, and had answered them as best she could, but it was obvious someone more important was going to speak with her than the watchmen.

She filled her teacup anew and stirred in a little sugar, then sat back in one of the overstuffed chairs and waited. When the door opened she expected that it would be one of the night servants, there to see if she was comfortable of if there was anything she needed. Instead she found herself facing a young man wearing half-plate armour.

Placing her teacup on the table she rose to her feet.

"Lady Dawntide, I am Corith Garrsen, one of the Piergeiron the Paladinson's assistants. I have been asked to apologize to you, for he will not be able to meet with you directly at this time."

"Apologies are not required. I understand that the Warden of Waterdeep is busy with many things."

"Thank you Lady Dawntide."

"Please, sit," Misara said, doing so herself.

"Thank you," he said as he sat, his armour creaking as he did so. "Before anything else is said I was told to offer you the Warden's thanks for returning Ocram's sword to the church."

"Thanks are not required, however they are appreciated. The sword served me well for many years, but it was time it was returned."

"As you saw Lady Dawntide. Now, forgive me for I must speak of less pleasant matters. Normally the Warden would not take a direct hand in a situation such this. It would be something that watch would handle, but, being who you are, it was decided that the Warden must know."

"How are the two men I injured?"

"One is dead, the other may not survive the night."

"I am sorry for that."

"They gave you no quarter Lady Dawntide, there is no blame. What the Warden asked me to find out was why you were attacked?"

"In all honesty I cannot say for certain. I have made many enemies over the years, and there are people who might see me dead simply for who and what I am, but," she paused, "it may have something to do with the quest I am presently on."

And she told him the entire story; from the time Domas summoned her to the attack on her that evening. She left out a few things, such as the Dark Elf priestesses of Eilistraee, but little other than that.

He commented that Waterdeep had heard of the trouble that Domas had faced and that he was glad that the threat had been ended.

"The Warden will wish to know if you think that this Asharass offers a threat to this city?"

Misara was not surprised by the question. "I do not know, but if this person or thing truly has ties back to the days of the Elven Empires, then it is possible."

"You travel to Candlekeep next?"

"Unless I might find the answers in the city."

"I will give a full report of this to the Paladinson. He may able to uncover information that might be valuable to you."

"I would appreciate that greatly," Misara told him, suspecting that Waterdeep's Lord Mage, Khelben Arunsun, would be asked for information.

"I believe that the Warden would like you to keep him informed of what you find out."

"I will do what I can," she answered.

"Thank you Lady Dawntide. As for the matter of the attack and your defence of yourself, I would ask that you try to avoid such lethal force in the future, but I hope you will not be required to defend yourself again while in Waterdeep."

"I will do my best."


	12. Soldiers and Sailors

**Chapter 12 - Soldiers and Sailors**  
by Shawn Hagen

The Elven Temple to the Seldarine was a beautiful structure, surrounded by plants and greenery. Misara stopped at the foot of the stone steps and looked about. The temple had been built so that no one time favoured it. Looked at in moonlight, starlight or sunlight, it had a facet that brought out its beauty.

She walked up the stairs and passed through the doors into the temple. It was late, or early, a few hours until dawn, but there were people about. Day or night made little difference to elves. Worshippers were as likely to come into the temple at midnight as noon, and as many prayers were offered when the moon was high, or fullest, or at dusk, as were offered during the day.

Misara stood in the open foyer for a moment, closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. There was a scent of magic in the air and scent of growing things. It was almost as if she were back on Evermeet, something of her Island home had been captured in the temple.

After a moment she opened her eyes and stepped further into the temple.

A young priestess wearing the symbol of Sehanine Moonbow stepped forward. "I bid you welcome. May you find the rest and peace you seek."

"Thank you for your welcome. I am Misara Anor'Esira, servant of Corellon Larethian. I wish to speak with Windama Nefalus."

"Windama is praying with many of the other priests and priestesses at this moment and I am afraid he cannot be disturbed unless there is great need."

"No, he need not be disturbed for I," Misara told her. "I can wait until he has the time to speak with me. I will await him in the Garden of the Crescent Moon if I may?"

"Go in peace Lady Anor'Esira," the priestess told her.

Misara nodded at her, and then turned and walked deeper into the temple. The garden she sought was a small area, open to the sky, near the centre of the temple. Soft grass covered the floor, and flowers that normally would only bloom in Evermeet grew there. In the centre of the room was a large tree, its branches extending above the room and the thick canopy forming a roof of sorts over part of the garden.

She walked to the tree and placed her hand upon the smooth, dark-green bark. She knew the tree well. She had brought it as a seedling to the temple when she had first came to Waterdeep, soon after leaving Evermeet. The seed had come from an ancient tree that had grown near her family's estate. Just touching the bark made her feel even closer to her home. She leaned forward until her forehead touched the tree.

For a time the sounds of the city faded and the scents of the flowers and tree grew stronger. She felt an ache in her heart, a longing for places she had not seen in a century. The sense of homecoming that entering the temple had made her feel, and that the garden had intensified, was not a balm to her heart, but intensified the ache until she thought she might collapse from the desire to return home.

And when she thought that she might not take it any longer she felt as if a pair of strong hands had gripped her shoulders and strength seemed to flow into her, a sense of homecoming so intense it banished the longing she had felt.

Misara opened her eyes and brushed the tears aside. "Thank you," she said softly, then turned to face the empty garden. She reached to her weapon belt and freed the sheath from the clip that held it. She placed her back against the tree and slid down the trunk until she sat amongst the roots. Placing her sword to the side she took a deep breath and then relaxed, open eyes staring across the garden.

In her reverie her mind wandered old and new paths of thought, putting things together in new manners, finding new ways of seeing things that her conscious mind did not have times for.

Corellon Larethian claimed no others as Paladins. He did not want them. He was a chaotic and capricious, though kind, god. The laws that limited freedom or that might cause harm the elves he protected he had no time for. And yet Misara, as a champion of law, often had to respect such laws, even at times enforce them.

His only concern was for the elven race, which was under his protection. Misara championed all good people.

She had always known this, but she finally came to think of it and what it meant to her. Yeshelné was right, she had been given something no other elf ever had. Was it due to the fondness of for a spoiled girl, as Yeshelné had suggested, or was it guilt?

How could she be expected to understand the mind of a god?

Did she really have to make a choice? Perhaps her concerns were a product of her own weakness, her desire to find an easier path. The path of a Paladin was difficult; perhaps it was time she remembered that.

Perhaps such ideas were simply the childishness that Yeshelné accused her of. One day it might no longer be possible to be both Paladin and servant of Corellon Larethian. What would she do if that day came?

She did not know.

What she did know was that she was travelling into danger, and she would be a danger to herself and her companions if she did not deal with her uncertainty For the time she would have to put her concerns and worries to the side. There would be time to deal with them later.

She hoped.

Such thoughts flowed like quicksilver as she became aware of the garden around her, of the light of dawn, and of the elf sitting across from her.

"Good morning Windama," she said, forcing a smile she did not entirely feel.

"Good morning Misara. I apologize for making you wait."

She stood, picking up her sword as she did so, and stretched. "There is no need to apologise. Waiting here is not to be looked upon as a task, but as a joy." It was true enough: Perhaps because there she need not be both Paladin and servant of Corellon Larethian.

He got to his feet as well. "Your words are as beautiful as you."

"Such a charmer." She lifted the magical belt-pouch from her side and traced her fingers along the pattern in the leather. "You are looking very well yourself."

Windama smiled. He was taller than her, with long, silver hair, pale skin tinged with blue and startling magenta eyes. He wore loose robes, marked with the symbol of Labelas Enoreth.

Misara opened the magical bag to a different compartment than the one she usually reached into. From that she brought out a series of books and handed them to Windama. He took each one from her, and then, as if he were handing it to someone, put it to the side. As soon as he took his hand off a book it disappeared.

The last of the books he kept and opened. The pages were covered in flowing Elven script, written in Misara's hand. He flipped through the pages, quickly reading the various passages within.

Misara had travelled the width and breadth of Faerûn and she saw much. More important she was a Paladin and she was allowed to learn things that others might not. Such knowledge was power, and one of Misara's duties to her god was to make such information available to the People.

It was one of the areas where the two paths she walked often threatened to diverge. So far she had not betrayed a trust, but the time might come when she would. Again she pushed that thought aside as something to be dealt with at a better time.

Windama nodded and closed the book, and then made it disappear like the others. "They will be in Evermeet in only a few hours," he told her.

"Hopefully they will be read."

"While things are still chaotic in Evermeet I have no doubt that those who need to will find the time to read through them."

"I hope so. Tell me, do the names Asharass or Taumon mean anything to you?"

"Asharass? No, but I do know the name Taumon."

"What can you tell me?" A sense of excitement filled her. Perhaps finding the answers would be easier than she thought.

"Taumon was a golden dragon, a powerful one who was friend to the elves many millennia ago. Supposedly there were many tales of Taumon and his Elven companions fighting the various evils that beset the land back then, but few survive to this day."

"But no mention of Asharass?"

He shook his head.

Misara did not press him. The clerics of Labelas Enoreth were likely to be scholars and sages, and they sought the hidden facts of the past as well as keeping the known history.

"Thank you," she told him.

"If the knowledge of the past has helped you then I am content," he answered. "Now, how long will you be about?"

"A few days, at most. I set off next for Candlekeep if I do not find the answers I need in Waterdeep."

"Candlekeep," he said, a touch of reverence in his voice. "If not for duties here I might ask to come with you on such a pilgrimage."

"You would be a welcome travelling companion."

"If not a pilgrimage to Candlekeep then perhaps you would have dinner with me tonight? I can spare time enough to visit one of the fine taverns in the city to share a meal with a friend."

"I would like that."

"Then I will see you tonight. Be ever vigilant against the return of banished darkness," he said in way of farewell.

"The sun always sets ere the next day dawns anew," she told him, quoting his own god's dogma back at him in farewell as she left the garden.

* * *

Jaztar Oakwater looked up as one of the acolytes of Bane entered his office. He recognized the young man as Marden, one of the converts he had picked up during his travels in Amn. He realised in a moment that it was not Marden and said as much to the new comer.

The one who looked like Marden stopped, looking disturbed. "How did you know?" he asked.

"It is not that difficult," Jaztar said as he pointed a wand at the intruder. "You do not move very much like Marden for a start."

He nodded. "I see. Very well then, I have come to strike a bargain with you."

"First, is that a disguise, or something deeper?"

"I have possessed the body of this man. I hope he was not too important."

"And why do you hope that?" Jaztar was curious about this man who came to him in such a manner, but he did not let his guard down.

"He will die, soon, I am sorry, but I have something to offer in way of apology."

Jaztar nodded, indicating that the man should continue.

The one who wore Marden's form reached into his robe, moving slowly, and drew forth a small, leather pouch. "May I?"

"Please."

He approached the desk and then slowly undid the strings on the bag. He turned the bag upside down and let four large rubies fall out onto the desk.

"Very pretty," Jaztar said, "but I can easily find such gems on my own."

"These where the four blood rubies set into the blade of Painful Sacrifice."

That surprised Jaztar. He looked more carefully at the rubies. "They say that the Cyricists destroyed the sword during one of the Banedeaths years ago."

"Men are greedy."

Jaztar nodded. "May I examine them?"

"They are yours."

"Generous of you," Jaztar said, first casting a spell that would indicate any magical traps on the rubies, and then another that would indicate the presence of poison. Satisfied that there was no danger in the gems he reached out and picked one up.

Immediately he could feel an echo of Bane's power within the gem, gathered there over the hundreds of years that Painful Sacrifice was used to sacrifice the souls of heretics to Bane. Before his god's return such power would have been invaluable to Jaztar. It would have allowed him to perform holy miracles, calling on the power held within the rubies to fuel his prayers.

With Bane's return such a use was no longer required, but they were still quite valuable to him. He might use them to forge anew Painful Sacrifice. Such an action might help him reclaim his place in the church, convince Fzoul to allow him to return.

"One of these gems will suffice as apology for Marden's death. Now, tell me why you come here in such a manner."

"This concerns the Paladin Misara Dawntide," he said, as if it were of great importance.

"I am aware of her," Jaztar said simply.

The man looked confused, as if he had expected something more. "I understand that you have dealt with her in the past."

"I have."

"And that she is an enemy of yours."

Jaztar smiled. "You think that I hate her, that I wish to see her dead. You hoped to raise that anger in me, planning no doubt to have me direct my resources to her death."

"I had hoped that you would wish to see her dead."

"I do, but I do not hate her. She has been an impediment to my plans in the past, and may be again in the future. It is only good sense to want to see her dead, but that does not mean I hate her. Hate, you see, is a dangerous emotion. It clouds reason and causes one to make stupid mistakes."

"I see."

Jaztar reached out and pulled the three remaining rubies to himself. "Two of these will pay for an attempt on Misara Dawntide's life. I make no guarantees, but I will send a powerful force against her. She may very well die."

The man in Marden's body frowned, obviously not pleased with that. "And the last gem?" he asked testily.

"That one will guarantee I forget about this meeting and that I never try to find out what this is about. The fact that you have come to me tells me that you wish to avoid being associated with the elf's death."

"It seems that you come out far better on this deal."

"Perhaps, but I suspect that you came by these rubies easy enough. The forces I send against her will be considerable and they will not be traced back to you."

After a moment the man in Marden's body nodded. "Very well. I can only hope that you will be successful."

Marden suddenly fell forward, and only just stopped his head from hitting the edge of the desk. "Master Oakwater? What am I doing here?" Marden asked, looking confused. There was a sheen of sweat on his skin, and he was shaking slightly.

"That will become apparent soon enough. Have a seat, rest a moment to clear your head." Jaztar told him as he put his wand aside and then took all four of the rubies into his hands. He watched Marden sit and wondered how long it would be before he died.

* * *

Cirtimin closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He had hoped for more from Jaztar Oakwater. The man's calm demeanour was somewhat at odds with the description that he had read in Etham's book. Perhaps Etham had not known Jaztar as well as he thought, or Jaztar had changed. Whatever the reason Cirtimin did not think he would get the service from the man that he hoped.

The half orc was likely to prove a much more effective agent in many ways. He might not have the mix of clerical and wizardly magic that Jaztar commanded, but he hated Misara, and he would die if it meant she would as well.

Perhaps between the two of them they might end her life. Perhaps not. He needed others to be certain. After levering himself out of his chair and shuffling to his desk, he sat down and opened one of Etham's books. He needed to find someone else.

The problem was that while the Paladin had made enemies, she tended to kill most of them, or simply outlive them. Finding one who was alive, or not a doddering old fool was difficult. He had read through the all the books once already, marking pages that he thought were promising. He turned back to those pages and began the research process once again.

* * *

It would be three days before Misara and the others would leave the city.

She had arranged travel on a four masted galleon named the Sea Rothé. She had chosen it for a few reasons. The Sea Rothé's captain, Adair Cooper, had a solid reputation for fairness and competency, as well as a fighter. The large ship was also well protected, with catapult and ballista on the fore and aft castles, as well as a short company of marines. There were also two spell casters that were part of the crew, one of whom was reputed to be an expert at weather magic.

Misara was fairly certain that she had picked up enemies with the quest, and she did not wish to go to sea unless she was certain the ship would be safe.

While the ship was an excellent choice, the captain would not leave port until after Greengrass. Misara would have liked to leave sooner, but the Sea Rothé was the best choice.

Her second night in Waterdeep Misara spent with Windama, inviting Rowan and Olpara along as well. It was a pleasant evening, most of it spent at the Elfstone Tavern. Rowan could not stay long. Greengrass was a very important celebration to the followers of Sune, and Rowan had joined in at the temple for the preparations. Olpara also had business to take care of, but she did not say what.

The third night, right before Greengrass, she was invited to a dinner at the Halls of Justice. As it was in her honour, arranged by the Priests and the Paladins of Tyr, she could not refuse. It was pleasant enough, with excellent food and drink, though a sombre affair. She was asked to once more take up Graceful Steel so as to pass it on to Egala Stararrow, an Elven Paladin of Tyr. For some reason she felt odd in handling that holy sword once more, as if it had not been her sword for more than a decade.

The next day was Greengrass, a feast day that Misara usually enjoyed, but she wanted to be on her way. And there were others things weighing on her. It was hard to enjoy it in such a state of mind.

When the Sea Rothé set out on the early morning tide on the first day of Mirtul she felt much better. She stood near the bow of the ship, out of the way of the sailors, listening as the harbour pilot called out his orders. The huge ship rolled under her feet as the sails were unfurled and pulled tight. A few other passengers were not ready for the movement; Misara offered an arm to steady a young woman.

Rowan had gone to her cabin as soon as they had boarded the ship. She had looked a little worn out. Olpara was somewhere on deck, but Misara did not see her.

Slowly the Sea Rothé made its way out of the harbour and into the open ocean. The pilot left the ship, climbing down to a pilot boat that had been following the galleon. As soon as he was gone Adair began calling out orders to his men. More sails where unfurled and the ship swung around to catch more of the wind. Rope and wood creaked, the sails snapped as they filled with wind. Angry oaths were called up into the rigging as sailors worked to pull the sails tight.

In a very short time the ship was trim and tacking southwards. Passengers began to make their way across the deck, following lines that had been painted on the deck for that reason. Most went below, only a few remaining above. Misara leaned over the railing, squinting her eyes against the wind.

"She's a fine ship," a voice said from behind her.

"Yes she is Captain Cooper," she told him, recognizing his voice.

He took up a position to her left, leaning on the railing as well. "You've sailed before I can tell."

"Many times, both as passenger and crew." She turned slightly and stared up at the rigging above them, "though I never crewed a ship so large."

"Working ships?"

Misara shook her head and turned to face him. He was a solid man, a little below average height, but with broad shoulders. His short brown hair was grey about his temples, there were fine lines around his blue eyes and his nose looked as if it been broken at least once. "Nothing so grand. My first was a small catamaran. Single mast with a lateen sail, she was fast."

"First ships, first loves," he said with a smile. "Well, that is not what I came to speak with you about."

"Oh?"

"You seem comfortable on a ship. Can you fight on one as well?"

"I have before"  
"I'd like to ask you to train a little with my marines. I know you're a paying passenger but, well, I never ignore an extra sword. I'd refund some of your fare of course."

"No need for that. I could use the practice, and, to be truthful, I make a bad passenger."

Adair nodded. "I know the feeling. Talk to Dagston; he leads my marines. He can be a right bastard and will probably give you a hard time, but show him you know what you're doing and he'll come around quick enough."

"Will he give me a hard time because I am an elf or a woman?"

"Neither. He'll give you a hard time because he's not fought with you before and he's a man who values his own skin too much to trust anyone he's not certain about." He finished with a laugh. "Now, I have to go and see that this ship runs smoothly."

Misara nodded. "I'll go and see Dagston in a little while."

* * *

The days on the ocean were enjoyable for Misara. She proved herself to Dagston with little trouble, knocking him on his backside several times to show her skill. As Adair had said, he became friendlier. She involved Rowan in the training with the marines, and, while uncertain at first, Rowan quickly picked up the skills she needed for shipboard fighting.

Misara also got to know the rest of the crew and, once she had convinced the first mate she was not going to hurt herself or cause any problems on the ship, she was allowed to go anywhere she wished.

She often climbed into the rigging, out onto the highest booms, standing high above the desk, staring out at the ocean and the sky. When night fell she would spend hours aloft, looking up at the so bright stars and moon.

Except for when she ate, and to change clothing, she spent most of her time on deck. Even when she rested she did so on under the open sky, sometimes sitting at the base of the bowsprit as the ocean flashed by under her. It was a time to lose herself in sea and sky, to put concerns aside.

For Rowan the journey was a little less idyllic. At first she had suffered from a minor bout of seasickness, but that had passed quickly enough. Then it was the boredom of shipboard life. She did not take the joy in the ocean journey that Misara did, and had no intentions of scrambling up ratlines so as to balance on a boom far above the deck.

She did find the training to be challenging, as well as interesting. She had thought fighting on a ship would be similar to any other engagement, but it was soon obvious that was not the case. There was an entirely different style required, one that took in the movement of the deck beneath her feet, as well as a somewhat limited fighting area.

She spent a few hours a day with the marines and Misara, and a few hours in her small cabin, reading one of the several books she had brought along for the journey-stories of love and romance penned by writers hired by her church. More than anything else, she spent time with Olpara.

It was obvious that the halfling was in a better state of mind than she had been before. She was more gregarious, interested in learning the meaning behind words and names, and happy to share her own knowledge. Where Rowan would spend time training with the marines, Olpara was likely to be playing talis with the sailors.

Rowan did not fool herself into believing that Olpara was over what had happened on the Evermoors, but she hoped that her friend was on her way to healing.

Late one afternoon, when the wind had died down to a gentle breeze, and all the sails were up to catch whatever they could, Rowan took a seat beside Olpara. The halfling had been sitting in a patch of shade afforded by one of the longboats. She had a notebook in front of her and was filling the pages with script and diagrams.

Olpara looked up when Rowan sat down. "Do you know that I really do not know that much about ships?"

Rowan shook her head.

"Rather odd for someone who is helping to finance a flying ship, don't you think?"

"A little."

"It was something that occurred to me several ten days ago. Now that I'm on a ship I'm trying to learn as much as I can. Fortunately the sailors like to talk when gambling. For some of them it's their tell."

"I'm glad that you are enjoying the voyage," Rowan said, putting a slight emphasis on 'you' without thought.

"You're not enjoying it?" A slightly puzzled expression crossed Olpara's face.

"No, well, not exactly," Rowan said, then sighed. "I just don't care much for ocean travel. I'd rather be on Rose Thorn, tearing across the land. I'm not interested in the working of the ship like you, and I don't really love the ocean, as Misara appears to. I should enjoy the chance to simply do nothing, but it grows surprisingly wearisome after a short while."

"That's unfortunate. How is Rose Thorn handling the voyage?"

"Well enough. I can tell that he wants to be on solid land soon enough, but he'll be patient. Berry," she said, naming Olpara's gelding, "does not like the journey."

Olpara nodded. "I'm putting some herbs in his feed to keep him calm, but it only goes so far. He'll probably be a little lethargic when we get back to land."

"You can ride behind me. We'll give Berry a lighter load for the first day."

"This ship is going to continue down the coast," Olpara said.

"I suppose so." Rowan was not certain why Olpara had said such a thing.

"At any of the port cities in Amn or Calimshan I could easily find a ship that would take me home to Lantan."

"I suppose you could," Rowan told her, understanding why the halfling had brought it up.

"I was thinking about it. About going home."

"Will you?"

"I want to, and yet, at the same time, I don't think I should."

Rowan shifted about to get her legs out of the sun. "Do you want to talk about it?" she asked. There was the possibility that it was still too soon to ask the question, but Rowan had decided to take the chance.

Olpara did not answer but returned her gaze to her book. From a small bag by her inkbottle she brought forth a small handful of dust, which she sprinkled, on the pages to hasten the drying of the ink. A few moments later she closed the book. As she began to pack her writing case she said, "I would, I think."

For a time Olpara did not say anything, simply packed away her pens and things. She finally snapped the leather case closed. "They were all my friends," she started, "everyone out on the moors that day. Ten of us, all used to the moors, and the area around Everlund. It was hard work, but we always were smart, until we got the idea to try negotiating with the giants."

She tapped her fingers against the writing case, closed her eyes, and then said, "It was a stupid idea. We should have known better, but we thought that it would work. And making a deal with the giants had to be better than fighting them. Maybe it could have worked, with a different group.

"They took us by surprise, boulders flying at us, and then they came charging in while we were still disoriented. Souky, Wren, Crowley, and Dee were killed in the initial attack. Amus died when the giants tried to force him to talk.

"The thing is," she looked at Rowan, "that all the injuries I had taken came from that initial attack. After the giants brought me and the others back the their camp they left me alone. They started with Amus, then after he died they alternated between Midan and Ockal, less of Ockal because he did not scream as much I guess. They never touched me. Maybe they thought I would die, or maybe they equated usefulness with size, I don't know, but I was just left there.

"I could hear everything, see some of it, and I knew, I knew that if they even looked at me I would start talking. I would tell them everything they wanted to know. I just did not want them to hurt me. I would have told them anything, betrayed anyone just so long as they did not hurt me."

Rowan was surprised by Olpara's story. She had assumed that the halfling had been tortured by the giants. She had not considered what Olpara was telling her. She was not even certain what to say to her.

"You think less of me now, don't you," Olpara said. "I knew you would."

Rowan wondered if she did. Olpara's admission had struck her as being rather cowardly, but she did not say that. What she said was, "A Martyred Champion of Ilmater once told me that torture can break anyone." She was not entirely certain why she said. It was something she had not thought of in a long time, perhaps had been trying not to think of it. Yet it was the right thing to say, she was certain of that.

Olpara looked at Rowan, a curious look on her face.

"He told me that the worse thing about torture is that the person doing the work often does not care for their victim. Torturers have been trained that way; they don't see the person they are working on as a person. It is just a job. If they hated you at least there'd be a reason. But they don't.

"Being helpless, in pain, and the person doing it sees you as a thing. I can't even imagine it, and I don't really like trying." Rowan was silent for a few seconds, the sounds of the sea and the ship rushing in to fill that void. "I don't think less of you. For all I know in the same situation I might have thought exactly the same thing.

"I was told one thing by him, the Champion, that is worth remembering. Flesh is weak, the faith in your god can be as strong as you need it."

Olpara shifted out from the shadow, partially into the sunlight. "That might help, if you followed a god like Ilmater, or you were a Paladin or Cleric. I don't think that Tymora would be likely to give me strength when I needed it."

"Then trust that she will send the luck to avoid such a thing when you need it." Rowan smiled, shifted forward and then up to her feet. "I'll see you at dinner." She walked away, thinking that Olpara needed some time to think.

* * *

Kesk looked at the camp. It was orderly, well run, and well defended, with a low earthen wall and sharpened logs pointing outwards. Sentries walked the inside and outside perimeter and a pair of guards stood at the gate, watching him, but not saying anything.

The sentries, the guards, everyone he saw in the camp were orcs. Well armed and equipped, disciplined, professional and apparently not bothered by the day's light. They were all part of a mercenary company, called the 'Tusk Soldiers'. The scroll his rescuer had left for him had contained information about them. The company was led by a human named Timmin Dours. He had brought them from the north, into lands that did not know much of orcs beyond their fearsome reputations.

Recently the Tusk Soldiers had been hired to keep a section of the road between Baldur's Gate and Waterdeep safe for caravans that travelled it near the Troll Hills and the Troll Claws. Kesk did not like that orcs were fighting to keep fat, human, merchants safe, but it likely kept the warriors sharp.

He walked up to the gate guards. "I want to speak with Timmin," he said in the language of the orcs. "I want to hire the Tusk."

The guards looked at him for a few seconds, saying nothing. Then one reached for something at his belt. He produced a small whistle, which he blew into, producing three quick chirps.

From around the cover of the wall a goblin ran. He was small and weak looking, as were all of his kind Kesk thought, but he was well dressed, and almost looked professional.

"Yeah boss? What you want boss?" he asked in a nasally voice.

"Tell Umar that there's a customer that wants to talk to Timmin," the orc with the whistle said, not bothering to look at the goblin.

"Yeah boss. Right boss," the goblin said before running off deeper into the camp.

The gate guards said nothing more. Kesk stood where he was, arms akimbo, waiting patiently.

Several minutes later a short, swarthy, bald man who walked with a rolling gait approached. He wore a hauberk of chain and metal plate and on his back was a quiver of short spears. Kesk supposed that the man was Umar.

"What's happening Turkon?" he addressed the orc that had sent the goblin off.

"Says he wants to speak to Timmin bout hiring us," the orc said.

The man turned his attention to Kesk, his gaze taking note of the way the he was dressed, almost as if he was deciding how much money that Kesk carried.

"Alright, come with me. I'll take you to Timmin." He turned and started into the camp.

Kesk followed after him, stepping between the gate guards. Inside of the camp he had a better view of how things were set up. The tents were placed in neat groupings, fire pits placed away from the tents, buckets of water and sand close to each fire pit. He saw orcs working on their equipment, and the small goblins moving about, obviously servants in the camp.

He had worked with bands of orcs in the past and the order and cleanliness of the camp amazed him. There was a professionalism to the orc mercenaries that he would not have credited to his father's people. It disturbed him slightly. The children of Gruumsh were not weak humans who needed to be concerned of such things.

His guide led him to an open area of the camp where only one large tent stood. A pair of orc guards stood on either side of the tent's entrance. "Wait here," the man said. Kesk stopped as the man entered the tent. Several seconds later he exited and said to Kesk, "You may enter."

Kesk nodded and walked forward, ducking slightly as he pushed through the canvas flaps into the tent. It was brightly lit with many lamps, and a thick carpet covered the floor. The tent was divided roughly in half with a hanging curtain. The half that Kesk entered appeared to be an office for there was a desk, several cabinets, a large table covered in maps and several chairs.

The man behind the desk looked soft and effete. Well dressed, neatly groomed with short, oiled, black hair, and moustache waxed, the tips pointing upwards. Kesk warned himself not to forget that the man commanded orcs, and apparently did so well. It was likely he was more dangerous than he looked.

Kesk could see that the man was giving him a thorough examination as well, and something in his eyes suggested he was seeing a great deal.

"You Timmin Dours?" Kesk asked.

"I am. You wish to hire the Tusk Soldiers I understand."

"Actually," Kesk said as he approached the desk, "I planned to come here, kill you, and take control of this band."

Timmin did not look concerned. "Is that still your plan?"

Kesk shook his head as he came to stand by the desk. "Your orcs are too disciplined." He stressed disciplined as if it left something of a bad taste in his mouth.

"You do not appreciate that?"

"Discipline like that is wrong for my people."

"We differ then on the training we feel befits a soldier. Now, let us get down to business."

Kesk reached into his belt pouch and brought forth a leather bag. He tossed it onto the desk in front of Timmin. Timmin opened it and dumped its contents onto the desk. A fortune in precious stones spilled out upon the dark wood of the desk, diamonds, sapphires and emeralds glittering in the lamplight. Kesk's liberator had provided the gems, with everything else.

Timmin spread the gems about and picked up a diamond the size of a fingernail. "What is it you wish of the Tusk Warriors?"

"I want someone killed. I want it done right."

"What sort of force might you be going against in order to kill this person?"

"Three or four."

Timmin looked up from the gems, apparently surprised. "Surely you could hire assassins to handle such a job." He waved his hands over the fortune on his desk. "You could hire some fine assassins for this."

"Like I said, I want it done right."

Timmin looked as if he might ask something else, then he shrugged his shoulders. "You are the customer. Please sit. Let's talk."

Kesk removed the great sword from his shoulder and leaned it against the chair before he took a seat.

"Currently the Tusk Soldiers are involved in a contract that I will not break. How close is the person you wish to kill?"

"Candlekeep. She'll be in Candlekeep soon and then maybe head north."

"If she heads north, I could put four of my sections at your disposal. That would give you forty soldiers, four sergeants, two lieutenants and a captain."

"All orcs?"

"One of the lieutenants is human, the other is an orc. The captain is human, you've met him, Umar."

"For how long?"

"With what you paid me, four weeks."

"I see."

"Assuming you remained within three or four days travel of this location. I can't afford to let my soldiers travel too far from here."

"Very well. I'll take the four sergeants with me for a job now. I'll be back in four days, no more."

"Why, and what job?"

"I need to see the quality I'm hiring. The sergeants will show me. What I will do is not your business."

For a moment Timmin looked like he might argue that. Then he looked at the gems on his desk and nodded. "As you wish."

* * *

The Sea Rothé had sailed pass Candlekeep, continuing south until the ship found a safe anchorage between the keep and The Cloud Peaks. A block and tackle on the boom of the forward mast created a crane. The crane was used to lift the three horses from the hold and then into the water.

Two longboats had been launched, the sailors pulling at the oars while a marine in each boat held a harpoon ready in case any sea creature tried to attack the swimming horses. Misara, Rowan and Olpara sat out of the way in the rear of the lead longboat. Misara held an arrow ready in her bow, watching for the same threats as the marines did.

The horses and boats safely reached the shore. Sailors quickly built fires on the rocky shore, using wood and tinder brought from the ship. They soon had a large bonfire blazing. The horses were covered in blankets and rubbed down by the fire to chase away the chill of their recent swim.

It was all done quickly and efficiently, and soon the two boats were being rowed back to the Sea Rothé. Misara stood by the edge of the water, watching as the ship pulled up its anchor and raised the sails to catch the wind.

As it turned away from the shore and started out into deeper and safer waters she saw Captain Cooper waving a bright scarf in farewell. Misara lifted her hand in reply, but was not certain if he would see it.

Once the ship was a spot on the horizon she turned and walked back to the fire. The horses had been dried off and both Rowan and Olpara were saddling their own mounts.

"We could ride east to the road and then follow it to Way of the Lion and the keep. Or we could just ride along the coast. The former will be longer but safer," Misara told them.

"Why go looking for extra trouble," Olpara said as she continued the complicated procedure she used to saddle her horse.

"I don't think we can spare the time." Rowan cinched Rose Thorn's saddle tight. "The sooner we arrive at Candlekeep the better. And what is a little extra trouble." That she directed at Olpara.

Misara looked between them, wondering if the halfling had really recovered from her ordeals on the Evermoors. "I think that as long as those troubles do not slow us. We'll follow the coast unless and until that proves to be a problem. There are a few fishing villages along the way where we can ask about the situation along the coast."

"Sounds good," Rowan said as she climbed onto Rose Thorn's back. Olpara, finishing her preparations, handed the reins up to Rowan and then let Rowan help her up onto Rose Thorns back.

Misara grabbed a handful of Iron's mane and swung herself up onto the horse. "Let's ride."

The horses set off at a trot, moving carefully away from the rock-strewn shore, but staying within sight of the ocean. All three of the horses were energetic after days spent in the ship's hold. It was obvious they wanted to run. Misara waited until the footing grew more certain then let Iron have his head. Rose Thorn followed not far behind, slightly constrained by Berry who was tethered to his saddle horn.


	13. The Black Spear

**Chapter 13 - The Black Spear  
**by Shawn Hagen 

Kesk wiped the sweat from his forehead and then removed the water bottle from his belt. He turned and looked towards the four orcs following him. They were the sergeants, under his command only by the order of Timmin. They were good warriors, fought well, he had seen that twice on their journey, and they followed orders.

They had all come from the North, lived and fought there until Timmin had bought their services and took them south. Shadows of that past could still be seen, but in the years that they had been under the command of a human they had changed. Every day he was with them he grew more and more dissatisfied. Were these the children of Gruumsh, destined to take the world?

"How far to Willow Pond?" he called to the largest of the sergeants, an orc named Olgar. He took a long drink from his water bottle.

Olgar shielded his eyes against the sun and looked off into the distance. "An hour, maybe a little more."

Kesk nodded. In the North an orc like Olgar would have commanded a small tribe by force of his arm alone, and likely would have led them all to death in some stupid attack. He made a good sergeant.

"You understand what I want?" he asked, shifting his attention to Colgam.

The small orc nodded. "As you say."

Colgam was small and thin; he would not have lasted long in the tribes. If his weak body did not get him killed, his intelligence would have earned the wrath of a leader like Olgar. That an orc like him could survive and rise to leadership position under Timmin was one of the few things that Kesk approved of.

He met the eyes of the two other orcs, Sheepa, a tall, muscular female, and Agars, an old, heavily scarred male missing his left hand. They both nodded indicating that they also understood the plan.

Kesk corked the water bottle, returned it to his belt, and then started down the road once more.

The three-day journey, other than a few minor attacks by monsters-Kesk had actually sought them out to test the mettle of his companions-had been quiet enough. The residents of small farming settlements Kesk and the others passed through always reacted poorly to the orcs. Fortunately it had never risen above name calling and refusing to let them enter Inns.

Not that Kesk would have minded had it escalated, he felt much closer to his orc side than his human. At the moment such an outcome was to be avoided, as much as he would have wished otherwise.

Of course things were going to change, and he was going to see just what kind of orcs he was with. It was possible, as much as he hated to admit it, that Timmin might have truly tamed them. Money, comfort, military discipline, all those things might do that. However he knew something that might remind them of what they were.

Almost an hour later they came in sight of the walled farming-town of Willow Pond. Built next to the pond that named it, the town was a well-fortified settlement where the farmers and their families lived. The large farms that surrounded the town were busy with spring planting and winter cleanup. The town itself was nearly empty.

"Now we pass through, unseen, by the power of He who Watches," he told them, using one of Gruumsh's titles. He reached into the scroll case at his side and began to chant a prayer to Gruumsh as he removed a yellowed scroll. He unrolled it and began to read the words on it, embellishing them slightly to make it seems as if the prayer continued.

As his chanting ended the air around them shimmered and where once four orcs and their half-orc leader had stood now stood five human merchants. The four orcs looked a little surprised at the sudden transformation. "Gruumsh shields you at my request," he told them, though the spell he had cast had nothing to do with Gruumsh. "Now let's go."

They entered the town, drawing only a greeting from the bored guard at the gate. They walked along the nearly empty streets until they came to a shop near one of the walls. It was a plain building, made mostly of stone. Above the door were a crossed sword and axe, both rusty. Thick smoke rose from the chimney and from within came the sound of scraping metal.

"Wait out here until I call you," Kesk told the four, and then he entered the shop.

There was a large forge in the corner of the room; a tall, broad shouldered, bearded man sat at a grindstone, pumping it with his foot as he ran the blade of a battle-axe over it. More weapons hung on the walls, or were stood in racks. Bars of iron were piled near the forge, and the tools of the man's trade hung neatly near by.

The man stopped his grinding and put the axe aside. "Can I help you?" he asked.

"Are you Gregor, the weapon smith?"

"I am. And you?"

"I am Kesk. I wish to purchase a spear from you for I've been told you are one of the finest smiths in the area."

"I'm not sure I am the finest, but you'll not find one of my weapons rusting from the first rain, or chipping easily, and they won't break under the blow of any sword but those that've been enchanted."

Kesk nodded. "That is what I am looking for."

Gregor turned to one of the racks and pulled forth a long spear with a broad, heavy head and a shaft of hardwood. The butt was shod in iron, and rings of steel encircled the shaft, about one every hand span. "This is the best I currently have. Give me two weeks and I'll forge something just for you."

Kesk did not answer. He walked over to the rack and looked over the other spears there. He touched each one in turn and then finally looked at the weapon the Gregor held. "May I?"

Gregor nodded and handed Kesk the spear. Kesk looked at it, testing the balance and the weight. He shifted his hands up and down the shaft and then finally ran his fingers across the steel head, testing the edge. "This is a fine weapon." He returned it to Gregor. "How much?"

Gregor looked at Kesk, obviously taking in the quality of his clothing and gear. "Four hundred gold coins, Sembian weight."

"Four hundred?" Kesk exclaimed, as the weapon smith would expect. "It is a fine weapon, but no more than two hundred." It was a great deal of money to offer for a spear, but it was the work of a master.

"That would hardly pay for the steel. Three hundred and forty, and no less."

"Three hundred and no more," Kesk countered.

"Done," Gregor said, a smile on his face.

"Done," Kesk agreed. "Colgam!" he called.

The small orc, still looking like a human merchant, entered the shop. "Yeah?" he asked, his common had a thick accent.

"Give me the gold."

While Colgam rifled through his pack for the bag of gold that Kesk had entrusted to him Gregor was taking a scale down from the shelf. Colgam handed the heavy, leather bag to Kesk as Gregor set up the scale.

"Three hundred coins, Sembian weight," Gregor said, indicating the scale. One side was loaded down with several iron weights.

Kesk made a production of checking the weights and then began to remove gold coins from the bag, dropping them into the weighing bowl. Soon the two sides of the scale were balanced.

Gregor scooped the bowl full of gold from the scale and placed it behind him. He picked up the spear and presented it to Kesk. "You have made a fine purchase."

"I have," Kesk agreed as he took the weapon. He turned and walked towards the door, careful not to catch the long weapon on the doorframe. He stopped and turned on the threshold. "Gregor," he called.

"Yes?" the man was pouring the gold coins into a bag and did not look up from his work.

"You did make this spear, correct?" Kesk spun the weapon about, shifting his hold on it.

"Of course I did. Why would you ask?" Gregor looked up just in time to see Kesk charge him, the spear leading. He had no time to defend himself. The spearhead caught him in abdomen, just below the ribs. It cut up through his chest, into his lungs, then out his back. Kesk did not stop, he drove the impaled man forward until the spearhead bit deep into the wall, pinning Gregor there.

Gregor tried to cry out, but he seemed only capable of making soft moans, and red, frothy blood spilled from his mouth.

The room grew dark as the four orcs, no longer cloaked by illusion, entered the shop and closed the doors. Only the red light from the forge illuminated the room.

Kesk jammed the spear's butt against the floor, making certain it would hold, then he moved forward and pushed Gregor farther up the spear blade, revealing the metal at the base. "Gruumsh," he called out in harsh orcish, "I present to you a spear, bathed in the blood of its maker."

One hand still holding Gregor he reached to his belt and removed a small vial. He used his teeth to pull the cork out and then poured its contents onto the weapon's head, letting it run down onto the wood of the shaft. "Gruumsh, I present to you a spear anointed in the blood of an elf!"

Tossing the vial aside he placed the pad of his thumb on the blade and drew it down, cutting himself. "Gruumsh, I present to you a spear blessed with my blood, the blood of your priest and champion! Give me the power that I might destroy those who would oppose me!"

The prayer ended and for a moment the forge was silent but for the soft moans that Gregor still made. Suddenly the weapon smith's head jerked back, cracking into the wall. The heels of his feet began to drum against the wood and he clenched his fists so tightly that he broke his fingers.

Kesk was not immune to what was happening for he too was subject to the pain as Gruumsh's power flowed through him and into the spear, taking some of his own life force with it. He gritted his teeth together against the pain, maintaining his hold on the spear, calling on years of discipline not to cry out in pain. He would not shame himself in Gruumsh eyes.

Then suddenly it was over. Gregor went limp as he died. Kesk took a deep breath and then pulled the spear free from the wall. As Gregor's body fell to the floor Kesk turned to face the four orcs. He was pleased to see there was fear in their eyes, but there was also wonder at the power of their god.

He drove the iron-shod butt of the spear against the stone floor, cracking the flagstone. The steel head had darkened to the colour of fresh blood. Even the steel rings on the shaft had changed. Kesk swung the spear around and the shaft shortened, became an easily wielded short spear.

He stepped forward, moving closer to Olgar. "Receive the blessing of Gruumsh," he said.

Olgar licked his lips and then nodded. The tip of the spear lashed out, cutting a gash above Olgar's left eye. Blood flowed from the wound and into his eye.

Kesk moved to the side so he stood in front of Agars. "Receive the blessing of Gruumsh."

Agars nodded and Kesk cut him as he had Olgar.

Next he moved to stand in front of Colgam. "Receive the blessing of Gruumsh."

Colgam did something that surprised Kesk. He reached up and grasped the lower lid of his left eye, pulling down.

Kesk nodded and then used the spear's tip to remove the small orc's eye. Colgam hissed in pain, but did not cry out. "You will learn the will of Gruumsh," he told him and then moved on to stand in front of Sheepa.

He had never given the blessing to a female. It was not done; and yet she was a worthy warrior, strong and skilled. He would let the god decide. "Receive the blessing of Gruumsh."

She stood proud and nodded.

The spear cut her, much deeper than it had the others, but she did not flinch. Kesk nodded and smiled.

He moved away from the four and looked at his new converts. "We now return to the camp. Anyone who sees us leave must die. I would not wish to ruin the reputation of Timmin's proud mercenaries."

Colgam was the first to laugh, but the other three joined in soon enough.


	14. Information and Enemies

**Chapter 14 - Information and Enemies**  
by Shawn Hagen

"That book you brought, it is most interesting," said Ulraunt, the Keeper of the Tomes at Candlekeep.

"Oh," Misara commented, picking at her meal, "I'm glad that you find it noteworthy."

"Quite noteworthy," Ulraunt said, a thin smile appearing on his face. "You know the author?"

"Very well," Misara replied.

Rowan watched the interplay between Misara and the Keeper of the Tomes. It was their first night at the keep and they had been invited to dine with the Keeper and his assistants. Misara had been seated to his left and he had asked her many questions.

Misara was being very taciturn in her answers, and at first Rowan thought her companion was attempting to keep information from the Keeper. Then she realised that she was playing with the man, and apparently the Keeper liked the game.

"I'm curious if your search for knowledge is connected to the book and its author." The Keeper lifted his glass and one of the silent monks stepped forward to refill it.

"Really?" Misara asked. "Why would you think that?"

"The book is quite valuable."

"To some I suppose. As for your question, the connection is only the strength of our friendship."

"Now that I find interesting, that such a friendship could exist."

"I must admit that I often find it interesting as well. Still, such things are not unheard of. It reminds me a little of the story of Daelruc and Thersos."

The Keeper looked surprised. "You know that story?"

At that point Misara said something in a language that Rowan did not understand. The Keeper laughed softly and responded in kind.

"She does like to hear herself talk," Olpara said from her seat beside Rowan.

Rowan stopped herself from laughing and looked about to see if anyone had heard Olpara. No one seemed to be paying much attention to either of them-which Rowan did find a little off putting as she was a very beautiful woman. She leaned in close to Olpara and said, "Seomon use to tell me that she was often a difficult travel companion."

"I can see that," Olpara told her. "I'm not sure if she is just trying to show everyone how smart she is or if she has some other purpose."

"I think she's just trying to stay on good terms with the Keeper. He likes the game she is playing, and I think he enjoys the time he is spending with such a beautiful woman."

"Pity she is a little arrogant."

"Arrogant?"

Olpara shrugged her shoulders. "She's always got this been there, done that attitude."

"She probably has been there and done that."

Olpara smiled. "Fair enough, but I think other elves I've met have had the good taste to be less obvious about it."

"There is something to that. However, I suppose I can forgive her such lapses in judgement."

"But you think she's beautiful."

Rowan nodded. "I'll admit, that can be something of a blind spot."

"Do you think you'll find what you want here?"

"I hope so, and you are part of this as well."

"I'm not so sure of that."

"Why do you say that?" Rowan asked her.

"I'm not sure what I can offer, and," she paused, "I'm not sure that Misara likes having me along."

"Has she said anything to you?"

"No," Olpara shook her head. "It's just sometimes the way she looks at me, as if I am a drag on your progress."

"I'll talk to her about that."

"You don't have to do that," Olpara said. "It's not a..."

Suddenly the Keeper laughed out loud and for a moment almost all the attention in the room was focused on him. "I never thought of it that way," he said to Misara. "An interesting view on the story. Still, it does not really seem that similar to a friendship between you and Lady Vilis. How is it that an elf calls one of the drow friend?"

Rowan left the words she had been about to utter unsaid. Her attention was on Misara and the Keeper.

"It is a long story, one that is not really germane to the conversation. Vilis does not share the views of her brethren, though the book I gave you documents a time in her life when she did, share the views of her brethren that is."

"You've read the book?"

"Yes. It is quite interesting."

"I have only had the opportunity to scan its pages, but I hope to give it a thorough reading when time permits."

"I for one look forward to reading the volumes that follow."

"There will be more?"

"That is what Vilis tells me."

"I suddenly have the feeling that our treatment of you may play a part on whether we see those or not," he said.

Rowan could not see Misara's face but she was almost certain that a small smile played on the elf's lips as she said, "I can't understand why you would think that."

"Well, I'll have to be certain that you get the help you need. You seek information on Asahrass and Taumon then?"

"I do. So far I know very little. The names likely date back to the time before the Crown Wars and Taumon was a golden dragon who fought alongside elves."

"I cannot say that I have ever heard these two names." He looked around the dining room. "Nor does it appear anyone here knows them either, but the library is vast and contains a great deal of knowledge. I'm certain that you'll find something of use."

Misara and the Keeper continued to speak through the meal and Rowan listened, wondering if she was going to hear some other secret that Misara had kept from her.

* * *

It was hours after the evening meal. Misara stood upon the battlements of one of the many towers that made up Candlekeep. The fortress stood upon a volcanic crag, overlooking the sea. She leaned up against one of the merlons, her cloak pulled around her, thoughtful of the target she might present, staring out over the sea.

Clouds filled the sky, and the air smelled of rain. Out over the ocean lightning flashed and below her the ocean shone with phosphorescent sea creatures. In the distance she could hear the sound the chant, almost a song, of the prophecies of Alaundo.

She relaxed into that sound, listening to it, trying to make out the individual words. A few, raindrops, fat with promise, splattered down upon the ancient stone, adding their soft sound to the quiet symphony of the night. Then the thud of footfalls upon the stone steps wove its way into the blend.

It was likely only one of Candlekeep's guards, treading out their set wards, but she shifted around to watch the stairwell. Lessons learned over many years kept her from ever being completely complacent.

No guard came to stand upon the tower roof, but Rowan. She wore the dress she had that evening at dinner, but had put a cloak around her shoulders, her sword was at her side, and she carried a small lamp.

"Good evening," Misara said.

Rowan turned towards Misara's voice, looking about for a moment before she saw her. "Hello." She placed the lamp down and then walked to stand near her.

Misara noted that Rowan too was careful where she stood, careful not to silhouette herself in the open space between the merlons.

"I wanted to speak with you," Rowan began, "about something the Keeper said this evening."

"About Vilis," Misara said.

Rowan nodded.

"Then ask and I will answer what I can."

"She is drow?"

"Dark elf," Misara corrected.

"There is a difference?"

"To me."

"Very well. Why didn't you tell me?"

"You had no need to know. It would have led to a situation like this."

"I disagree that I had no need to know."

"Oh?"

"Consider that I might have been required to seek out the sage of the High Forest that you told me of. If you were to die on the mission, for example, and I required more information. Were I to be presented with a dark elf when I was expecting otherwise, well, perhaps I might have done something that could have jeopardized the mission."

Misara said nothing for several seconds as she considered Rowan's words. "You are right of course," she told her. "I should not have been so secretive in this case. Again I need to offer you my apologies."

"I'm not so sure you should have been secretive in any case."

"Oh?" Misara replied, surprised for the first time.

"It does not do for Paladins such as our selves to keep such secrets. I suspect that your friendship with Vilis is an old one, and yet you never told Seomon nor Domas about it."

"How do you know that I did not? Perhaps they never saw the need to tell you?"

"You never told them."

"Yes." Misara lifted her shoulders in resignation. "Yes, I never told them. It was a part of my life that they had no need to know about. That you have no need to know about, other than Vilis is a friend to good and an enemy of evil. If you have need to seek her out you can trust any counsel she gives to you."

"Could you tell me how you came to be friends with a dark elf?"

"No."

"Because it is not important or because you do not trust me with that information?"

"Trust is not the issue here."

"I would argue that."

"No, you would not."

"Pardon?"

"You've said nothing to me about Olpara."

Rowan went silent for a time before finally saying, "That's different."

Misara nodded. "I understand. I know that I can depend on you to guard my back when we fight, as you can depend on me. What you are not certain of is how I would view a companion on this quest who may not be up to it."

"She is. And she will not be a detriment to this quest. We can trust her."

"So you believe, and it may be true, but could you prove it to me?"

Rowan did not reply.

"And so you choose to say nothing, thinking you have better understanding of it than I. That may be true. And I will accept your judgement in this." Misara returned her gaze to the sea. "Please, accept mine where it comes to Vilis."

"If you really will accept my judgement when it comes to Olpara, see that you stop making her feel as if she is not wanted."

"I will do my best. If you think that I am failing in that, please tell me." Misara returned her gaze to the ocean. "I fear that there are many things on my mind," she said in a soft, far away voice.

Neither said anything more after that. Some time later Rowan left the tower roof, taking her lamp and starting down the stairs.

Later, Misara said, "I should have told her."

* * *

Books lay scattered on tops of tables in the reading rooms, as did scrolls, maps and several esoteric mediums of knowledge. Misara paged through one of the books and then put it aside. She was reaching for a scroll when a young monk came into the room, carrying two large books.

"I think I have something Lady Dawntide," he told her as he placed the books down.

"Tell me," she said as she walked over to his side. He had been assisting her with the research for two days and she still did not know his name.

"This book," he said as he opened the larger of the two books, "contains a collection of ancient dwarven poetry. Long sagas mostly, a few shorter works of course, but those are not important. There is a very ancient saga, written about a great hero and the events he took part in during his life, although the saga is no longer complete, much of it lost."

Misara nodded. "Go on."

"Well, there is a passage here," he placed his finger on a set of dwarven runes, "that speaks of the hero, Cacklan Forkbeard, dealing with the three plagues of Domtonon, Asharass and Claergia."

"Does is say anything more of Ahsarass?"

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not, but we may have some information on Domtonon." He opened the second book and began to look through it. Misara could see that there were illustrations within, pictures of horrible creatures, obviously not of Faerûn. "Approximately four thousand years ago a terrible demon lord called Domtonon threatened the Netheril Empire." He indicated a picture of creature that looked like a pile of dung with eyes.

"Several great heroes of that time managed to destroy him, or at least forced him back to the Abyss."

She picked up the book and read through the entry. "He does seem to be rather a terrible creature."

"It appears he was my Lady. I suspect that the Domtonon that was defeated four thousand years ago was the same Domtonon that Cacklan defeated many millennia before."

"Does this help us?"

"Well first of all it does confirm the time frame you believed that Asharass existed in. It also tells us something about the power that Asharass had."

"How?"

"The nature of sagas like these. If Domtonon, Asharass and Claergia were grouped together then it is a safe assumption that the threat they represented was equal."

"So, Asharass was similar in power to Domtonon."

"Yes. Unfortunately I think that this is all the information that we can provide you with about Asharass. I do not think there is anything else to be found."

Misara nodded. "So, this search is likely fruitless."

"I fear that is the case Lady Dawntide."

She nodded. "I had begun to suspect that as well. Very well. I wish to start the search for a fortress called Mith'hisie, or Grey Mist Keep. It is elven and dates back to the time of the Crown Wars."

"Yes Lady Dawntide. I will find Brother Shimen. He has made a study of such places over the years."

"Good. And thank you."

"Of course," he said with a slight bow.

She returned to the scroll she had been about to examine before the monk had interrupted her.

* * *

Hours later the number of books spread out on the tables before her had decreased significantly, however there were a great deal more maps. Misara sat beside a monk, Brother Shimen she assumed, examining one of the maps. The monk carefully made a copy of the larger map onto a smaller piece of paper.

"Make sure you give me full details of this area," she told him, pointing to the map.

"Of course Lady Dawntide," he replied as he reached for one of his finer brushes.

She put the map to the side, so that the monk could still see it, and reached for another map, and the copy beside it. She really was very impressed by the quality of the work.

"You wanted to speak with me," she heard Rowan ask.

Misara looked up from the maps. Rowan stood at the entrance to the room. At her side was the acolyte Misara had sent in search of her. "Yes," she said as she put the maps aside and got to her feet. "You can handle this?" she addressed the question to the monk.

"Of course."

"Very well." She moved out from behind the table and approached Rowan. "I know where we are going next and thought we should discuss it."

Rowan nodded.

"There is a small room nearby where we might talk comfortably."

"Would you like anything else Lady Dawntide?" the acolyte, an older boy, asked.

"No, that is all."

He bowed slightly and then ran off.

"This way," Misara said.

The room that Misara led Rowan to was a small, cubby hole sort of a place, made crowded with a pair of wooden chairs and a small table. Once they were both seated Misara said, "I've found out everything I need and can here."

"Rowan nodded. Do you know who or what Asharass is?"

Misara shook her head. "Powerful and evil is the best I have been able to uncover so far. We're going to have to travel to Grey Mist Keep and consult the Historian."

"When do we leave?"

"Tomorrow, early if at all possible."

"Olpara and I will be ready."

Misara nodded but did not say anything. She and Rowan had been avoiding each other since their talk on top of the tower three days before. She still was not certain of Olpara's state of mind or the wisdom of including her in the mission, but she had decided to accept Rowan's decision on the matter. "Very well. I should tell you more about the Historian, however. In case something happens to me."

Rowan moved forward in her chair, leaning towards Misara.

Misara told her the story as Vilis had told her. It did not take long and when she finished Rowan nodded. "I see," the human woman said. "How should I approach this Historian if you are gone?"

"I'll have some notes for you tomorrow, and we'll discuss it while travelling."

"How long will it take us to get to Grey Mist Keep?"

"A tenday, perhaps two. I know its general location, in theory."

"In theory?"

"This keep has been lost for over two thousand years, and perhaps moved three times before it was abandoned long before that."

Rowan did not looked pleased by that piece of news. "A tenday or two to get there, and then we have to return to the Silver Marches." She shook her head. "It is too long."

"Yes it is, but we have no choice. We know little more than when we left Silverymoon. Returning now will not be of help to anyone. I've already sent a message to Domas, informing him of what we have learned. For now that is the best we can do."

"I suppose you are right," Rowan said with a long sigh. "I simply fear for what might become of my companions while I am gone."

"We will make the best time that we can," Misara told her.

* * *

Like a spider on a silk line, Onica dropped into the vaulted chamber. Her line was a steel wire, fed through a clever gnomish device on her climbing harness. Headfirst she fell towards the floor, the quiet ratchet spooling out wire at a slow pace. A body length from the stone floor she reached up and triggered the brake.

A soft hum filled the room as the wire was pulled taught.

Right below her was a glass toped case, within which rested a large book. It was why she was there. The book was written in blood, the blood of a man who was the offspring of a god. Tyr to be specific.

As Onica slid several picks from the leather sheath at her wrist she wondered if Alasan had truly been the son of Tyr the Even Handed. The church certainly believed it so. She was certain that Alasan had written the book below her in his own blood. She slid a probe into the case's lock, exploring the interior by touch.

He, Alasan, had suffered a wound that would not close, given to him by another man also purported to be the son of a god. The other demigod had died immediately. Alasan had lived long enough to write the book below her in his own blood. She did not understand why he might have done so, but she was certain he had.

There was a simple trap in the lock, poisoned needle. Likely a sedative; the ones who had set it followed a good god after all. She disabled it and then picked the lock.

The book rested upon a pressure trigger. It probably set off an alarm Onica thought as she jammed it. She lifted the book free of the case and then slid it into a small sack she had brought along just for that purpose.

After tying the sack to her climbing harness, she tended her abdominal muscles, her upper body rising towards her legs, and grabbed the steel wire. Quickly she began climbing, pulling herself back towards the roof and success.

* * *

Kesk lay on the cot in the small tent that he had been provided. Around him he could hear the sound of the camp's daily routine. Someone asked about the guard rotation; a goblin yelled something to its fellows; in the paddock a horse whinnied. He shifted his head and looked at the spear that was propped near his cot.

The dark weapon seemed to be urging him to action. If it was, then he shared its impatience.

Something moved in the shadows of the tent. He turned his attention towards the movement, his hand dropping to the long dagger at his belt. A small creature hoped from the shadows, a strange combination of a bird and a lizard. Membrane covered wings flapped as it leaped from the floor onto the cot by Kesk's feet.

He had seen the creature before so he simply waited as the thing bobbed its head back and forth for a moment, then bent over and began making choking sounds. From its wide, beak-like mouth a scroll began to push forth, each choking convulsion forcing the scroll father and farther out. Finally it fell from the creature and landed on the bed.

As Kesk leaned forward to take the scroll the bird like beast leapt from the cot to the floor. The scroll was dry and cool, as if it had just come out of a leather pouch. The first time such a creature had delivered a message he had expected the scroll to feel damp and warm.

The creature jumped towards the shadows, even as it moved it faded away. Kesk took note of that, but give it only a little of his attention. He had unrolled the scroll and was reading the information there.

He smiled as he got to his feet. Letting the scroll fall to his bunk, he strode towards the outside. He only slowed enough to grab his spear. It was time for action.

* * *

Jaztar sprinkled a fine dust of powdered bone across the slab of polished obsidian. The dust fell across the stone, forming intricate runes and patterns. He stepped back from the stone and examined his work. It would do.

The room was a large, dark chamber, lit by a series of magical lights; many of them free floating globes. There were shelves, tables, and desks pushed up against the four walls of the room. Almost the entire centre was left empty, but for the slab of obsidian.

Jaztar walked to a shelf filled with wine bottles. He examined several and then chose one. The cork he removed with a corkscrew, placing cork and corkscrew on a table near the shelf. He carried the bottle to the slab, careful not to disturb the powder as he stepped onto it. He poured some of the red wine onto the slab, and then sprinkled some of the powder onto the puddle of wine.

He stepped away from the slab and then placed the opened bottle on the floor.

Patting his robe to ensure that his wands and spell components were all where he expected completed his preparations. He took one step back and then said 'Sertasus'.

There were no flashes of light, no wind blowing through the room, no strange sounds to herald the coming of the Sertasus. One moment the slab was unoccupied, the next a chain-shrouded kyton was crouched upon it.

The kyton lowered its head towards the puddle of wine. From the curtain of chains that covered its mouth a tongue the colour of a slug darted out, lapping at the puddle. There was a quiet, rasping sound as its tongue passed over the stone. The sound of chains rattling and slithering over each other was surprisingly soft.

The kyton looked up from the stone, its yellow eyes locking on Jaztar. "Oakwater," it said.

"Welcome Sertasus," Jaztar said, his voice calm and even. "Did you like the wine?"

"It was," Sertasus paused in thought, "like the fear of a woman in a dark place, after she has been stalked for hours, with only the sound of my chains for company."

"So you liked it."

"Yes," he said, drawing out the final 's'. Sertasus reached out and grabbed the wine bottle front the table beside the obsidian slab. The neck of the bottle disappeared into the chains in front of his mouth. He upended the bottle and drained its contents in a few seconds. A moment later the empty bottle was tossed aside to shatter on the floor.

Sertasus moved off the slab, disturbing the powder as he did so. His chains grew louder as he walked across the floor, towards Jaztar. Some shifted about, as if they were snakes, rearing up around him as razors and spikes appeared on the ends. When he stood directly in front of Jaztar he said, "You are still not frightened."

"No."

"You have called me. As a good host you have given me a fine wine. What else do you have to offer?"

"The blood of Misara Dawntide."

Sertasus cocked his head slightly to the side. "This name is known to me. Her blood would have a fine bouquet, and yet she would not be easily prepared."

"I am aware, and she travels with companions."

"More difficult still."

"I offer this to aid you," Jaztar said as he reached into his belt pouch and pulled forth a piece of metal. It looked like a coin that had been partially melted. There was an eleven-point star carved into the metal.

Sertasus shifted about, examining the thing that Jaztar held. "You would give up one of your tokens?"

"I have been well paid to ensure that the Paladin Dawntide dies. One of the services that Egantar is bound to seems a fair price."

Sertasus reached out and took the token from Jaztar. Jaztar felt the devil's chains pass against his robe. He was careful to maintain complete stillness. It would not do to allow the kyton to think that any movement might be a shiver of fear.

"Where will I find the Paladin?"

"She has left Candlekeep and travels north."

Sertasus nodded. "She will die."

"And when she is, you and Egantar will leave this plane, immediately."

"Perhaps we will stay a little longer," Sertasus said.

"You will leave immediately." Such was always the most dangerous part of the negotiation with Sertasus. The devil's desire was to remain in Faerûn. Jaztar would not allow that.

"Be careful who you attempt to order mortal," Sertasus said, the chains about his body becoming more animated.

Jaztar moved closer to Sertasus, pressing his body up against the chain vestment of the kyton, ignoring the small barbs that pieced his robe and scratched his skin. "Do not attempt to intimidate me. You will have more than enough time to sate your bloodlust, and there will be other times, if you do as I ask."

For several seconds neither the man nor the devil seemed likely to back down. Then the chains about the Kyton fell limp to lie against it, as if they were normal chains. "Of course, of course," Sertasus said as he stepped back from Jaztar. "I would not like to do anything that might jeopardize our," he paused, "friendship."

"Of course."

Sertasus backed up, as he moved the rest of the room seemed to grow brighter. And then Sertasus was gone.

Jaztar relaxed and walked to one of the desks, pulling a chair out and settling heavily into it. There would come a time when the Kyton would not back down. He should fear that, but he did not. There was a price to power after all.

He removed from his belt pouch one of the rubies he had been given. For a time he became lost, staring into its flawless depths.

* * *

A pair of tigers ran across the wild lands, close to the cliffs that lined the Sword Coast. They were unseen and unnoticed. They left behind but a few tracks and tufts of fur.

As Liman ran he thought about what he was doing. The day before he and Siishi had spoken of it. Siishi had said, 'We could keep running south, we could move into the far off jungles.'

The offer had surprised Liman slightly, not that he had not been thinking about losing himself in Chult. Siishi was a creature of the North more than he; her white, now turning a darker grey, fur would not stand her well in a Jungle.

She trusted him as her leader, however, and would do what he asked.

His choices seemed limited. He could kill the Paladin, and return to his home in the north, his debt to the Oil and Steel man paid. Or he might simply run away. He was not bothered by the idea of running away; survival was of far more importance than the very human concept of courage.

There was another possibility that Siishi had also voiced. They might join with the Paladin. She was an enemy of the Oil and Steel man, whether she knew it or not. She could be a valuable ally. There was value in the suggestion, and he had told Siishi so, but he was not certain such an alliance would stand.

It was not that she had killed Ippla, for Liman considered such things of little importance. Vengeance was not a concept that he had very much time for. What concerned him was that she was a Paladin. Liman did not think of himself as evil, but he had little use or concern for the laws of society. Such an attitude would not make for an easy alliance.

For the moment he was willing to track down the Paladin. What he might do when he found her was a decision that he would make then.


	15. Death on the West Cut

**Chapter 15 - Death on the West Cut**  
by Shawn Hagen

Umar Konson had served under Timmin for more than a decade, and he trusted the man completely. Still, the recent business with the half-orc Kesk did not sit well with Umar. Timmin may have accepted the half-orc's money and was willing to let Kesk do as he pleased, but Umar was not so certain. He suspected that the very large payment, much larger than was really required, had affected his leader's judgement.

For the moment, however, Kesk was a client, and in charge, and Umar, until he saw reason to do otherwise, would follow his orders.

At the moment those orders were a fairly simple ambush.

"You will take one section of orcs down the Trade Way," Kesk said, putting one of his thick fingers on the map spread out in front of him. "Move five or ten miles and then move off the road and hide."

"I understand," Umar said.

"Wait until they pass. Three females, all on horseback; an elf, a human and a halfling. Follow after them, but do not let them see you. When you approach the ambush site, increase your speed and charge them. If they run, they will come right into my trap. If they turn to face you, I'll lead the remaining three sections to crash into them from behind."

"It is a sound plan," Umar said. "We will have no trouble carrying out such orders." He wanted to remind Kesk that he was just a client.

Kesk nodded. "Do not close with them if you can avoid it, not until we have killed their horses and ensured they can't run."

"Very well, it will be as you say." Umar paused; he wished to know more about the three women that Kesk wanted dead. "Are they dangerous, or is there another reason you do not want me to immediately close?"

"I simply want to ensure that Timmin's soldiers are not put in too much danger."

"That is very responsible of you, but Timmin would not want you to fail in your mission for fear of making the best use of his men." Umar put a slight emphasis on 'his'.

The lopsided grin might have turned into a scowl, or it may have only been Umar's imagination. Kesk stood. "Take Sergeant Olgar's men with you and leave now."

"I'll also take Viina with me," Umar said, naming the human lieutenant that had come with them.

"Why?" Kesk asked.

"Her illusion magic will come in useful for hiding us, and can make Olgar's section look that much larger."

After a second Kesk nodded. "Very well. Now move quickly."

Umar nodded, and then turned and called for Olgar.

* * *

"Thanks for getting me out of there," Viina said. She rode next to Umar, their legs almost touching.

"I did not think you'd want to spend any great length of time with the orcs, especially since that Kesk has been with them."

She nodded.

Umar looked back over his shoulder at Olgar and his ten orcs that rode behind them. Olgar was at the point, the rest of his section riding in pairs; their crossbows ready, covering an arc on either side of the road. Not that there was likely to be any threat, but it never hurt to be cautious.

"I do not trust that Kesk," Umar said, lowering his voice slightly.

"He's not the first client we've worked for who we did not trust," Viina countered.

"There is something he is not telling us. Something important."

"What do you want to do?"

"I want to see just who it is that Kesk wants us to kill."

"That sounds like a good idea. How?"

"Do you have your grays with you?"

"Always."

"The old West Cut," Umar said.

For a moment Viina said nothing, then she nodded. "I understand."

"We'll move Olgar and his section as Kesk wanted, and then continue on ourselves."

"Understood."

* * *

Olgar did not question that Umar and Viina continued on. It was not the first time that the commanders had gone on to scout out the situation. The two humans kicked their horses into a run when they were out of sight of the orcs, speeding down the road.

They slowed as they passed a caravan, making certain that the targets they sought were not amongst the merchants.

They reached the place where the West Cut diverged from the Trade Way. Viina pulled a set of grays from her bag. They looked like baggy garments of sackcloth, with large holes for the head and arms. With a whispered command from Viina the grays altered, becoming the uniform worn by the Flaming Fist Mercenary Company.

Viina created an illusion of a small camp, with a few men, also dressed in the colours of the Flaming First. They went about the tasks of running a camp, appearing to be relaxed. She also called up an illusion to hide the recent passage of the caravan.

Umar and Viina then waited, Viina often scanning the road with a field glass. She spotted the three riders when they where some distance off. As they got closer she was able to positively identify them as three females, one was certainly a halfling. She and Umar positioned themselves on the road and waited.

Umar could tell when the riders became aware of him. They slowed their horses, moving the animals closer together so they might talk. When they approached they did so at a cautious pace.

He took note of the red headed one first. She was one of the most beautiful women he could recall seeing in a long time, and he felt his chest tighten at the though of her death, especially at the hands of the likes of Kesk.

The elven woman was also beautiful, but he had always found elves to be a little alien, the unearthly beauty a little disturbing.

The halfling was pretty enough, though he was more focused on that she rode a horse, perched upon the large animal sidesaddle.

When they closed he called out, "Well met travellers. I am Captain Imdian of Baldur's Gate and I must request that you hold."

The three riders brought their horses to a halt not too far from where Umar and Viina sat upon their own mounts. The red headed beauty urged her magnificent white stallion a little closer. "Well met Captain Imdian. I am Rowan Jassan. Tell us of what trouble has required you to stop us?" she asked, politely, with a voice that was clear.

"There is trouble on the road ahead. We must ask that you take the West Cut. It will lead you around the difficulty, though it will take a little more time."

"What is the problem?" the elven woman asked as she tugged on her horse's mane. "If necessary we can lend you our swords."

"The problem does not require swords, but shovels. I thank you for your offer, Lady..."

"Misara Dawntide Captain. Are you certain there is nothing we might offer in the way of aid?"

"Misara Dawntide, the Paladin?" he asked, feeling as if the hairs on the back of his neck had stood up.

She nodded. "You have heard of me?"

"I have heard stories Lady Dawntide. My father came from Chessenta, and he told me about you."

"I am certain that the stories have been exaggerated," she said.

"Such modesty becomes you Lady Dawntide," he said, thinking her suddenly much more attractive than he had before, in spite of the strange elven beauty.

She smiled. "You are kind Captain. But tell me, why is it that we are bypassing on the Trade Way?"

"Sink holes Lady Misara. They are being repaired by work crews, but it is safer for all if traffic passes it by on the West Cut."

The elf looked about, her gaze seeming to take in the trail, the illusionary camp, even Viina, with more attention than seemed warranted.

"The West Cut looks as if it has not been used in some time," Rowan said, looking down the path. "Is the way still safe and passable?"

Umar shifted his attention back to Rowan. "Scouts were sent down it two days ago. They reported poor conditions, but a passable path."

"Well, we had best get moving then."

Misara returned her attention to the immediate vicinity and looked over at Rowan. "Yes. We'll have to make up the time as we can."

"Thank you Captain," Rowan said. "The blessings of Sune upon you." She smiled, then turned her stallion towards the divergent path.

Misara and the halfling simply offered him a polite nod, and then followed after Rowan.

Umar watched as the three of them started down the neglected path, soon disappearing around a bend and obscured by the trees.

"I think the red haired one was a Paladin as well," Viina offered.

"Perhaps," Umar said, lost deep in his own thoughts.

"Do you really know of the elf?" she asked.

"Yes. She," he paused, "she did something very important for my father, when he was still a boy."

"What?"

"I would rather not talk about it."

Viina looked in the direction that the three females had ridden. "That was not easy then?"

Umar shook his head. "No it wasn't." He sighed loudly. "Let's get back to Olgar." He turned his horse and started back the way they had come.

Viina dispelled the illusions and then followed after him.

* * *

They had been riding on the path for a little longer than an hour when Olpara said, "This is actually a very good trail."

"What?" Rowan asked her.

"The trail. It is very good. Look at those low stone walls. They keep the trail from shifting if there is too much rain."

"I suppose. I wonder why they went to so much trouble to maintain and build it and then just abandoned it?"

"Because there is something wrong with it further up?"

"Then why did the Captain send us down it?" Rowan asked.

Misara had been listening to what Olpara and Rowan said and began to take a keener interest in the path they travelled.

"Because he wanted us to run afoul of whatever has made this road impassable," Olpara said, a hint of petulance in her voice, as if what was happening was somehow an affront against her.

"That is a disturbing thought," Rowan said, and then to Misara, "Perhaps we should think about turning back."

"We might," she said as she stopped Iron. "But me might be walking back into an ambush."

"And we most likely are walking into some kind of ambush or trap by continuing on this way." Olpara looked more upset, but Misara was not certain if the halfling's anger was directed at her or the situation.

"I know. It is something of a disturbing state of affairs," Misara said. "If we go back and there is an ambush set for us, then the ambushers will know that we have seen through their trap and will be that much harder to deal with."

"And if we go forward," Rowan said, "then they may believe that we are still unaware of the danger, which may make whatever lies ahead that much easier to deal with. We disarm the trap from within, as it were."

"People who try to disarm traps from within usually end up with a poison needle in their hand," Olpara said sourly.

"We could go off road, circle wide around possible threats and then move back onto the Trade Way at a point farther along," Misara offered.

"That will cost us time," Rowan countered. "I do not think we can spare it."

"We might argue this around and around, but we will probably come back to the same decisions no matter how we come at it," Misara told them. "We either ride into a trap or not. If we ride into it, then we should go forward, which probably offers us a better chance at success. If not, then lets us leave the trail and head east for a day, or maybe two. Then we can turn north again."

"Who knows what we might run into in the wilds off the trail?" Rowan shook her head. "It might be worse than whatever might await us, and we really don't know if there is a trap or not. I say we go forward, cautiously."

"Forewarned is forearmed," Misara said. "It probably is the best out of a number of poor choices."

"Fine." Olpara did not sound happy. "Let's just be careful about it."

Misara prodded Iron into a walk, as she did so she made certain her sword's hilt was in easy reach and that the sword was loose in its scabbard. Olpara fell in close behind her and when Misara looked over her shoulder she saw the halfling going through the pouches of spell components she wore on her belt. Rowan brought up the rear, her hand also near the hilt of her sword.

It was a chance they were taking, not one that Misara was particularly happy with. Still, it did appear to be the best choice from a set of bad options.

Several times as they rode they passed close to areas that Misara thought were perfect ambush spots. And yet each time they cleared the area without any threat showing itself. Instead of relief each safe passage only brought more and more anxiety.

When she came over a small raise and saw the wagons Misara was certain that the time had come. The moment of anticipation was ended when she saw no people about, and could see that the wagons ahead appeared to be wrecks and abandoned. Then, as what wrecked and abandoned wagons might mean occurred to her, she found herself slipping into battle wariness.

"It is a perfect way point on this road," Olpara said softly from where she had stopped behind Misara.

"It's a perfect place for a monster to lay in wait," Rowan said as she drew her sword.

"It must not need to eat very often," Misara said. "Or ranges wide in its hunting."

"We could run through," Olpara said. "Be clear before whatever it is knows we are here." The halfling's horse was fussing slightly and she had to tug at its reigns to control it.

"And charge at speed directly into the teeth of something," Rowan cautioned.

"I don't like leaving dangerous things behind," Misara said as she drew her own sword forth. "I don't like being responsible for the evil done by something I ignored or fled from." She directed Iron into a slow walk. She did not know what she might have to deal with, but she had been in such situations before; not that that made her feel any better.

"What do you think it is?" Rowan asked. She had ridden up beside Misara and was in the process of sliding her left arm into the bindings of her shield.

"No idea."

Rowan chanted a soft prayer under her breath as their horses splashed through the small stream at the base of the hill. "There is something evil ahead," she said as the horses stepped upon the far bank of the river. "To the right side of the path."

Misara nodded. "Let me go ahead," she said, and then set Iron charging up the hill, his hooves pounding on the ground and kicking up chunks of dirt.

She caught site of movement on the right side of the path and let herself slide from Iron's back, landing to the left side of the path and then rolling into a crouch. Something large and man shaped lunged at Iron, but the fast moving horse easily outdistanced it attacker.

Misara sprung towards it, swinging her sword around in a wide arc and slashing across the thing's armoured chest. The banded armour was rent by the blow, and the sword sliced into the flesh below, but nothing in its actions suggested that it felt the blow.

In each hand the creature held a wicked, spiked flail. It attacked, the weapons lashing out, forcing Misara to fall back, her sword deflecting the blows. It kicked out with its bare foot, trying to trip her. Misara managed to shift to the side in time to avoid falling, but it still hit her. It felt as if someone had slammed a club across her shin.

Rowan came charging up, a throwing axe held ready. She hurled it as she and Rose Thorn passed, the force of her arm and the speed of Rose Thorn combining to drive the missile deep into the monster's side.

Taking advantage of Rowan's attack, Misara moved forward, swinging her blade in a circle about her. It was a slow attack, but there was a great deal of force behind her sword when it hit. Again the blade cut the armour and the hard flesh beneath, but the sluggish, thick blood told her that the creature was not alive, and that it would take a great deal more to hurt it.

Rowan had hauled Rose Thorn around and then leapt off the horse, drawing her sword as she did so. She charged the creature, raising her shield to fend off one of the flails, and the savagely cut across a rent in the armour that Misara's sword had earlier opened.

Flanking it, the two women managed to keep it off balance, covering it with many small wounds. Unfortunately it did not seem to feel those wounds.

"What is it?" Rowan asked as she slammed it with her shield and then parried a flail with the flat of her blade.

"Undead." Misara kicked it in the knee; it felt as if she were kicking stone. "Powerful undead."

"You attack," Rowan called out as she caught a flail blow across her shield and then sliced it across the face, cutting the threads that had been used to sew its left eye shut.

Misara launched into a purely offensive style, leaving herself open as she savagely attacked the undead creature. She had to trust to Rowan's shield and sword to protect her. She waited until she had pushed the monster hard, to the point where it was ignoring Rowan as it desperately tried to attack her. She then shifted her sword into a defensive pattern. "Now," she said.

Rowan went in hard, using her sword and shield to attack the undead. Misara kept the flails off of Rowan, allowing her to completely focus on hurting the thing.

It often took months to learn how to fight together, especially for one fighter to defend while the other attacked. When it worked it could be a very effective, but it was difficult to master. Fighters would either make mistakes and leave openings, or their patterns were predictable.

Fortunately their opponent did not seem particularly attentive.

For almost a minute the two Paladins drove the undead creature back, apparently taking it apart piece by piece.

Then it suddenly roared, dropping any pretence at defending itself for a moment. Misara felt as if she had suddenly fallen into frigid water, and her limbs stiffened. From the corner of her eye she could see that Rowan was also affected by whatever was happening.

Worse, the wounds covering the monster began to heal, some even completely closing up. Negative energy, Misara realised. Dangerous, even deadly to the living, but for the animate dead, it provided healing. Surely this was a powerful creature indeed.

Fortunately, she, as well as Rowan, were protected by the divine favour of their gods, and the harm they took from the negative energy was less than others might. Unfortunately the undead beast took advantage of the fact that its foes were off balance for the moment. One of its flails crashed down on Rowan's shield, driving her back a few steps. Its other flail caught Misara hard in the left side, and she was certain that a rib broke.

Misara and Rowan fell back together, both prepared to defend herself and the other as they regrouped. Misara wondered for a moment about Olpara, but the sudden flashes of magical energy that splashed against the creature's chest told her that the halfling still lived.

The magical attack seemed to disorientate the creature, slowing it for the few seconds Rowan and Misara needed. Misara leapt forward and stabbed her blade into the creature's waist. She drove it forward, putting her weight behind the attack, pushing it forward, deep into the monster.

A shadow fell over her, and she heard the sound of metal on metal. Rowan must have moved in to protect her from the flail blows. Trusting her companion, she focused solely driving her sword into and through the undead monster.

She felt the tip of her blade pierce the rear part of the armour. She was close to the creature, almost up against it. She could smell the faint odour of the grave on it, could see the white, waxy skin on its hands that gripped the flails. It was trying to use the flexible weapons to bypass Rowan's shield and sword to hit her.

Misara reached up and grasped its upper left arm with her left hand, pushing it up. Holding the sword's hilt tight in her right hand, she began to pull its arm to her left. Pitting her strength against its, Misara pulled it against her sword, the blade slicing slowly through it.

She could hear the rapid clash of flail against shield and sword as the monster desperately tried to beat through Rowan's defence to harm her. She ignored it, continuing to pull at the monster, yanking it about, her sword parting skin and armour. Her blade came to a stop against something. Its spine, Misara realised.

There was another burst of negative energy. Misara felt her knees go weak as again she felt the sensation of being dunked in freezing water. She gritted her teeth together and pulled for all she was worth. Above her she heard the sound of a flail hitting a shield, and then something slammed hard into her left side, and she felt more ribs go, and something pierced her side.

She put the pain from her mind and pulled. The monster's spine, trapped between her magically enhanced strength and the keen edge of her sword, finally gave way. Such a wound would have been fatal for a living creature, but undead were not so vulnerable. Still, severing its spine and cutting through many of its abdominal and lower back muscles cost is a great deal of structural integrity.

Releasing its arm, she ducked behind it, grasped the hilt of her sword in both hands, and then pulled it free, slicing the blade through tissue and armour. Then she leapt back and gave it a kick. The pain in her side intensified with the actions, and she did not think she might manage such an action again.

The top part of its body flopped over to the side, held to its legs by a band of flesh and muscle. A hideous wound, and yet it still attempted to fight, swinging its flails about, and looking as if it was trying to flip the top part of its body back up onto the lower part.

Worried that it might release more bursts of negative energy, harming her and Rowan while healing itself, she leapt forward again, taking a glancing blow from a fail, and cut at the flesh that held torso to legs. At the same time Rowan moved in, using her shield to block the flails, and began to chop at its neck.

The two of them brutally hacked at the creature until head separated from neck, and then torso from legs. And sickeningly, all three pieces of the creature continued to twitch.

"It just won't die," Misara said, stomping her foot down on its left elbow and then plunging the tip of her sword into the shoulder joint. As neatly as a goodwife dismembering a chicken, she gave the blade a twist and popped the joint out of the shoulder.

Rowan whistled, and a few seconds later Rose Thorn ran up to her. She put her sword and shield aside and removed an axe from where it hung on the saddle. Turning, she lifted the axe above her head. A moment later she brought it down on the monsters right knee.

For a minute the two worked quietly and efficiently at the grim work of further dismembering their fallen foe. It might not have been necessary, but they were not taking any chances.

Finally Misara took a few steps back from the remains and then dropped to her knees. She put her sword down, noting as she did so the thick, gummy, black blood on the blade. She'd have to clean, later. For the moment she just wanted to catch her breath. Every deep breath she took made the broken ribs stab into her.

Rowan also let her axe fall, stepping back a few steps, and then sitting on a rock by the side of the road. Rose Thorn came up and gently nuzzled his mistress. Misara looked at her companion, not seeing any serious wounds.

Misara herself was a little worse for wear. There were the direct hits from the flails the monster had wielded so efficiently, as well as a number of glancing blows. Underneath her armour she had no doubt her flesh was beginning to darken.

She shivered slightly though the spring day was warm and her earlier exertions had made her perspire. It was shock from the many wounds. She had seen warriors die from such after the battles had ended. She closed her eyes and reached for the healing power of her calling.

The worst of the pain faded, and the itching at her side told her that the broken skin was closing up. She said a quiet prayer, a request for further healing, and the aches and pains of the battle faded even more.

She got to her feet, grabbing her sword from the ground as she stood. "How are you feeling?" she asked Rowan.

Rowan looked up at her. "Better. I'll be fine."

Misara nodded and looked around. Olpara had ridden her horse close enough so that she might see. When she saw Misara looking at her she said, "It's still twitching."

Misara nodded. "Nothing coordinated. It's dead, or, well, destroyed."

"We should burn it," Rowan said as she got to her feet. "Make sure nothing is left."

"Agreed," Misara told her. "We can use the wagons for wood. Maybe there is something flammable to help the blaze along."

They went to work. Misara tore one of the wagons apart and used the wood to build a pyre. Rowan found some bales of old, mouldy hay, and Olpara a cask of lamp oil. The halfling also found something else and she called Rowan and Misara over to look.

A tall box, one end of it smashed, lay half out of a large wagon. Misara looked at Olpara's find, not certain what concerned her. Rowan said, "What is it?"

"Look at the end."

"It is not the only thing broken here," Misara said.

"It was smashed open from the inside," Olpara said, a hint of what sounded like exasperation in her voice. "And look at the gouges inside the box."

Rowan moved in close. "It does look like it was smashed open from the inside." She looked at Misara. "That thing could have been inside this."

"There's something at the bottom of the box," Olpara said.

Misara moved closer, looking at the damage done to the box, and what looked like a black stone that was at the bottom of the box. She broke more of the box, opening it up so the mid afternoon sunlight might illuminate the interior. The stone was glossy black and wrapped in a dull, silver wire. "And ideas?" she asked.

"Never seen anything like it," Olpara said.

"It could be a control talisman," Rowan suggested.

"For that creature?" Misara asked.

"Someone was transporting it," Olpara said, as if she was not certain whether she could believe it. "Why?"

"An excellent question." Rowan reached into the box as if she were going to grab the stone, but her fingers stopped just short of the glossy surface. "Perhaps a mystery for another time?"

Misara nodded. "Leave it. We'll pass the information on to someone in either Waterdeep or Baldur's Gate. They can send someone to investigate." She paused as she gave the situation some thought. "Olpara, I would appreciate it if you continued to look around, see what you might find."

Olpara nodded. "I'll do that."

"Back to work," Rowan said.

"Let's set flame to the pyre. And maybe," she looked at a skeleton lying close by, "we'll see about burying the remains of the victims."

Later, when the pyre was burning hot, turning flesh to ash, burning bone, and blackening armour, Misara found a shovel and began to dig a grave. Rowan, sometimes with help from Olpara, gathered up the bones of the dead, putting them on a tarp she had found. Rowan would drag them to the graveside, and then go looking for more.

Finally they pushed the bones into the large, shallow grave. Misara and Rowan both said prayers over them, and then they shovelled the dirt over the bones.

It was late afternoon by the time they finished. Rowan took up a piece of board from one of the wagons and used her dagger to carve a rough representation of a skeletal arm holding a pair of scales. She then drove the board into the freshly turned earth, a marker for the grave.

"Hopefully the families might take some comfort in this," Rowan told Misara.

"At least they have been laid to rest."

There was not very much else for them to do. Olpara did not find any clues as to who might have been transporting such a powerful undead, but she did find no small amount of treasure.

The three of them took a share of it, and then buried the rest in a hidden spot. Again, it was something that the authorities might deal with later.

The sun was an hour, maybe two, from setting, and all that remained of the pyre were brightly glowing embers amidst the blackened armour and bones. They left it behind, moving down the road at a fast walk, not looking back.

* * *

Kesk had been angry when he had read the note, again delivered and coughed up by one of the odd messengers. He had sent a pair of scouts racing down the road to check with Umar, to be certain that nothing had happened to him and his squad.

When Umar and the others arrived he asked them if they had seen any sign of the females. Umar had said 'they did not pass by the ambush spot', and Olgar confirmed that. Kesk did not know what had occurred to send Misara off on a different path, but he was not going to allow her to get too far ahead of him.

"Let's pack up. We'll chase them down," he ordered.

"No," Umar said.

The orcs that had leapt into action at Kesk's order now stopped, looking uncertainly between the two.

"What do you mean?" Kesk demanded.

"I have since learned more of your targets. There were things that you did not tell Timmin that."

"Timmin did not care to ask!"

"He should have. He might not have taken the job had you told him you wished to kill a Paladin." Umar turned to meet the gaze of several of the orcs. "We kill a Paladin, and someone will find out." He returned his gaze to Kesk. "Priests will ask their gods, and the truth will out. Then we'll either have to deal with Flaming First from Baldur's Gate or a company of Paladins, set on revenge, from Waterdeep."

Kesk looked about, noting that a number of the orcs looked nervous at the mention of the Flaming Fist, and perhaps even more so at the idea of a company of Paladins. He supposed he could not blame them, but that did not benefit him.

For a moment he thought of ordering that the orcs kill Umar. Unfortunately he could tell that not all would follow that particular command. He was certain he would win the battle in the end, but his force would be greatly depleted. As much as he would like to kill the Paladin loving fool, Kesk would not move against Umar that day.

"Tell your precious Timmin that he may keep all the money I paid him, I have had it with him and his humans." He turned his back on Umar and faced the majority of the orcs. "I leave, now, to chase after an elf, one who serves the god who is an enemy to He Who Watches. Follow me, those of you who would call yourselves orcs."

The four sergeants, his first converts, moved to his side immediately. Others came quickly as well. A few moved to put themselves obviously by Umar's side, but many more came to Kesk's call.

When it was done Kesk had thirty-three orcs who would ride with him after Misara. He would have preferred more.

He looked at the orcs who remained by Umar. A few of them he would have liked to come to him, but there was nothing to be done about it. "Our paths part now," he told Umar. "Pray they do not converge again."

Umar nodded, acknowledging Kesk's threat without seeming intimidated by it. "As you wish, but I must ask that you return your cloaks and anything else bearing the symbol of our company. I would not have you damaging the reputation of the Tusk Warriors."

Several of the orcs that had come to Kesk looked about nervously, as if the request crystallized their choice, and they were rethinking it. Others began to remove the cloaks they all wore, enchanted cloaks that offered the orcs protection from the sun. Kesk did not like what was happening.

Then Colgam laughed. "We'll not be giving up such things," he said derisively. "We'll take 'em as mustering out benefits, and there's not a damn thing you can do 'bout it." He laughed again. "And don't worry. These cloaks," he gave the garment a pull to emphasize his words, "will be covered in blood soon enough. No one'll be seeing your precious crest."

Galvanized by his words, the orcs pulled their cloaks tighter about them, and those who had looked uncertain lost their hesitant looks.

"I think you have your answer," Kesk said, smiling slightly.

"As you wish," Umar said.

Something about the man's look, a superior smirk, made Kesk certain that he was missing something. As much as he wanted to grab the man and pound the information from him, he did nothing. He walked up to his horse and grabbed its reigns. "Mount up. We ride now!"

Soon his force was mounted upon their horses, ready to follow him. He raised his head and screamed, then cried out in orcish, "Bless us Gruumsh for we go to bring death to your enemies!" He kicked his heels into the horse's sides and the beast leapt forward.

Behind him came the pounding of hooves as his followers came after him.

* * *

"When will you destroy the cloaks and other things?" Viina asked.

Umar and Viina rode at the head of the small group they were leading back to the their main camp. He looked about, to be certain that none of the orcs were close enough to hear, and said, "Tomorrow, a little before noon, if the sun is shining bright."

She nodded, smiling. "That will teach that whore son and those that followed him."

"It will."

"Do you think that he will succeed?"

"I don't know. I am amazed that the Paladin survived whatever was in the West Cut."

"You know, we might be able to benefit from this. If we send word that the West Cut is now clear..."

"As long as we do not take direct credit for it." He nodded. "You're right. We'll send a scouting group to take a look."

"Now that you know she's not dead, care to tell me about this connection you have?"

"It's not that interesting of a story really. She took a group of slaves as reward for some service or another. My father was among them. She then set them free in the Dale Lands and Sembia and provided them all with enough money to start a new life."

"It sounds as if it is an interesting story."

"My father thought it was. Every feast day he would tell us the story, just so we would not forget that we owed a great debt." He shrugged his shoulders. "It was his debt, not mine."

"What do you think Timmin will do about this?"

Umar suspected that Viina was changing the subject, and he was glad enough for it. "Get angry. Then wonder why we didn't do more to stop it. Then he will consider how to best make up for the losses."

"Almost half the company. We've never had losses that high."

Umar shrugged his shoulders. "Timmin will deal with it. He always does."


	16. The Fields of the Dead

**Chapter 16 - The Fields of the Dead**  
by Shawn Hagen

Three days had passed since Misara and the others had fought the undead creature. The three women had travelled hard, covering a great deal of distance in that time. They were well out in the Fields of the Dead, passing through the rolling hills of the vast grasslands. They passed by small, walled holds, as well as the occasional Sheppard's cottage. Along the trail were the larger settlements, villages and even towns.

Two nights they had spent under the roof of an Inn. Misara had sought out storytellers and scholars, such as they were, and asked for tales of local ruins. She would then spend time pouring over the maps she had had drawn in Candlekeep, marking them up and filling the margins with notes.

The third day found them racing towards a village called Hill Crown, a place to spend the night, and a place where Misara hoped to find more information.

Rowan pulled Rose Thorn to a stop as she came to the base of a large hill. Misara, a little behind her, slowed Iron to a walk and moved up to stop beside her. They had been riding by fields for a short time, and now above them was the walled village where those that tended those fields lived.

"No one was in the fields," Rowan said.

"I noticed." She had known little of farming when she had left Evermeet so long ago, but years of living and helping those who lived close to the land had taught her the basics. There should have been people preparing the soil and planting seeds.

"Something has happened," Olpara said, having ridden up behind them.

It was a statement of the obvious, but Misara said nothing to that effect. "Someone has set another trap."

"It could be a coincidence," Rowan suggested.

"I don't think so. It just does not feel like it."

"We could avoid it," Olpara said. It sounded as if she was just making a suggestion, but there was a hint of something under her tone that belayed the calm façade she tried to project.

"If the people of Hill Crown have been harmed, will be harmed, it is because of me," Misara said. "I can't just walk away from that."

Rowan nodded. "We have to find out what happened."

"I don't like walking into obvious danger," Olpara said.

Misara wanted to suggest that the halfling wait up on the bottom of the hill, but held her tongue on the matter, remembering what Rowan had said to her that night at Candlekeep.

"It will be alright," Rowan told Olpara. "And we could use an extra set of eyes as well as your magic."

For a few seconds Olpara was silent. "Alright," she said.

"Let's go. It will be twilight within the hour. I would rather we do this in sunlight," Misara said as she pressed her heels against Iron, urging him forward.

A stream ran down from the crest of the hill, passing under the walls. There was a bridge along the trail and the horses' hooves drummed on the wood as they crossed. There were fields planted on the hill, and irrigation channels had been dug out from the stream. After they crossed the bridge Misara spotted a woman lying in a channel, screened by tall, spring grass.

"Hold," she called as she swung off her horse. Drawing her blade as she moved forward, Misara looked about, making certain there were no dangers around. She stood near the prostrate woman and leaned forward to see to her condition. Suddenly the woman sprung to her feet, looking almost as if she were jerked upright.

In her muddy hands she held a shovel, and with that makeshift weapon she tried to dash Misara's brains out. Misara swayed back and lifted her sword in a smooth arc to meet the shovel. The sharpened steel cut the shovel in half, sending the steel head spinning off to land in the field.

That did not deter to muddy woman for she continued to swing about with her truncated weapon, teeth barred, eyes opened wide, the whites startling against the dark skin and dirt on her face. Misara reached up and grabbed the shaft of the once shovel and pulled it to the side, jerking the woman off balance and then off her feet. As she hit the soft ground with a 'thud', Misara released the wood and drew her holy symbol from where it hung about her neck.

A few quick words in elvish completed a prayer that would turn some undead, but it had no effect on the woman. The woman regained her feet with a jerking motion. Misara was preparing to take more adverse measures, when Rowan suddenly jumped behind the woman.

Misara expected her to attack from behind, which was a useful tactic, however unnecessary in the present situation. Instead of attacking Rowan seemed to be grabbing at the air, calling out a prayer to Sune as she did so. Then there was a flash of light, and Misara thought she saw something in the air.

The woman stumbled forward, her eyes rolling up in her head as she fell forward. She landed face first in the mud at the edge of the channel and did not move again.

"It was a thread," Rowan said.

"A thread?" Misara asked, looking away from the woman to Rowan.

"When you tried to turn her, I was trying to sense evil, I saw it, like a thread, connecting her to something in the village. Or I thought that was it." She held up her hand. "It flashed for an instant, and then was gone."

"Is she alright?" Olpara asked.

"I don't think so," Misara said as she reached down and turned the woman over. She was obviously dead. On examining her Misara found a deep wound in her chest. The blood that had stained her dress had been hidden by the mud.

"Something was controlling her," Rowan said. "Through that thread."

"Or web," Olpara said.

"Or a puppet's string," Misara added as she straightened. "There are probably more like her."

"It's horrible," Rowan said.

"We'll likely have to kill a few of them before we find the puppet master," Misara told her, her tone full of distaste. "I want whatever it is to pay for this."

"Agreed," Rowan said, striding towards Rose Thorn.

Misara looked about again, then climbed up upon Iron's back, the horse having walked over to her.

They continued towards Hill Crown, each of them alert, scanning the area around them. The gate was wide open. The village was silent. The far off sound of a waterwheel echoed loudly in their ears.

All three of the horses appeared uncomfortable as they passed through the gates, but only Olpara's gave her any real problems. Rowan reached out and grabbed the reins of the nervous horse, calming it slightly with her presence. Misara moved ahead of both of them.

She rode straight down the wide path that led directly to the village's central square. Somehow she knew that that was where they would be waiting. It was the sort of twisted sense of theatrics she suspected they were dealing with.

She heard Olpara let out a small gasp when they came to the centre of the village. There had to be about fifty villagers, standing there, holding a collection of farming and kitchen implements, as well as some swords and axes. And amidst them stood a tall figure, swathed in chains.

She knew the creature; she had seen others like it before. A kyton. Misara slid of Iron's back, slapping the horse across its hindquarters, sending him running off. She drew her sword and strode towards the kyton, unmindful of the villagers that surrounded it.

A young man, hardly old enough for the stubble that covered his chin, moved forward, a pitchfork in his hands. She grabbed the makeshift weapon's wooden shaft, yanked it and its wielder around in a circle, and sent him flying back the way he had come. Several villagers were knocked off their feet by his rapid passage.

She parried a clumsy sword blow from an old woman, kicked the grain flail from the hands of a tall, broad shouldered farmer and slapped the flat of her blade against the head of a woman with a battle axe.

The movements of the villagers were stilted, often slow. Whatever was controlling them was doing a bad job of it. She punched a young woman in the face and then was standing face to face with the kyton.

The chains that surrounded it began to writhe, several lashing out like whips, razor sharp barbs appearing on the end. She waded into them, blocking them with her blade, careful not the cut any free. Several snaked around her to hit at her back, but the blows were glancing and her armour stopped them from causing any serious hurt.

Dropping her shoulder, she slammed into her foe, driving the kyton back, away from the villagers. She reached up, grabbed a handful of chains on its chest for leverage, and prepared to drive her sword through it. As she looked up she found herself looking into Lindra's face.

It was a trick she had seen from other kytons, and she did not pause as she thrust her sword right through it. That it had dared to take her daughter's face only fuelled her anger. She spun it about, using her grip on it and her sword's hilt to lift it above her head. She hurled it, head first, through the window of what looked to be the local tavern. It crashed through wooden shutters and the sound of wood breaking suggested that it had made very hard contact with the furniture within.

"Misara," Rowan cried.

Misara shifted her stance slightly, turning so she could watch the villagers and the Inn window at the same time. "The kyton is the real threat," she called to Rowan.

Rowan had dismounted and was wading into the villagers, using her shield and the flat of her blade to clear her way. Misara could not see Olpara, but assumed that the halfling was following behind and close to Rowan.

Misara stepped forward, grabbed one of the villagers and tossed the man away, clearing the last one out of Rowan's way.

"Lead the way," Rowan said.

Misara turned and ran towards the Inn she had hurled the kyton into. She leapt past the broken shutters, landing in the dark interior. The kyton was picking itself up off the floor, its chains slithering about it. It turned a hate filled gaze on Misara. The chains began to flail about it.

It did not speak but simply charged her. Misara feinted to its left, spun to its right, cut deep into it, and let it stumble into Rowan's path. Rowan slammed her shield into it, knocking it back, and then slashed at it.

The kyton stumbled away from the sword blow, regained its balance, and stood up straight near the centre of the Inn. "Enough!" It bellowed, it voice like chain links sliding over one another. The chains lashed out from its body, but Misara, Rowan and Olpara were not the targets.

The chains wrapped around two of the support beams, constricted on them, edges of the links, razor sharp, easily cut through the wood. With a crack the two beams gave in.

Misara had no time to do anything but scramble for one of the windows. The upper floor was starting to come down. She reached up, catching the sagging beam of the window. For a moment, and she needed only a moment, she held the beam up as she vaulted through.

She hit the ground, rolled to her feet and turned back to the Inn. The top floor came down, destroying most of the first floor, and likely anyone within it, raising a huge cloud of dust. Misara watched, and waited. A glint of light to her side, a hint of movement, caused her to spin about, raising her blade in time to parry several chains.

The kyton came out of the dust, running right at her.

* * *

Rowan grabbed Olpara and went out the window that she and the halfling had just entered through. She found herself among several of the villagers and was forced to lay about herself with her sword; her shield arm was holding Olpara. Finally she cleared free of the knot of enslaved and likely dead villagers and placed Olpara down.

"Are you okay?" she asked the halfling.

"I'm, I'm fine," she replied, sounding shaken.

Rowan nodded. "Let's find Misara." She looked about. "That way." She pointed with her sword, indicating an area currently clear of villagers.

Olpara went off at a run in the direction Rowan indicated. Rowan followed close behind, ready to deal with threats as they arose. The villagers she had knocked down, in some cases cut down, had leapt to their feet in the jerking manner she had seen before. They came running up behind her.

She turned to attack quickly, to slow them and then ran again. Olpara was climbing up the side of tall, three story house, easily scaling the outside wall. Rowan knew that she would not be able to follow the halfling, so she put her back to the wall and prepared to meet the oncoming wave of villagers.

They came at her, jerky, awkward movements, but with force behind them, and often a great deal of strength. She pushed them back, doing her best not to simply cut them down, not quite willing to accept they were all dead, or more to the point, not willing to take the chance.

It was not very difficult, but they had numbers, and she suspected that given time that would tell.

"Rowan, I'm sending a rope down," she heard Olpara call from above. A moment later a rope slithered down, the end landing on the ground near her feet. With the flat of her sword and with her shield she drove the villagers back. With a little space about her she quickly sheathed her sword, then grabbed the rope and began pulling herself up. She placed her feet against the wall to help her climb, walking herself, her armour, and her other gear up the wall.

She felt hands grabbing at her, and something heavy hit her side, but none of that slowed her. Within a few seconds she was out of reach of her attackers. With a little help from Olpara she was soon pulling herself up onto the roof.

"We're safe up here, I think," Olpara said.

Rowan turned around and looked down at the milling villagers below. A few picked up rocks and other small items to hurl up at them, but their aim was simply horrible. "As safe as any place. We can't stay here though."

"I was afraid you would say that," Olpara said softly.

Rowan did not acknowledge her companion's words as she looked about. The houses were not close enough, nor numerous enough, that she and Olpara might travel any distance by leaping rooftop to rooftop. Still, they could avoid the largest mob of villagers before they had to drop back to the ground.

She led Olpara across the roof, a leap down to a lower roof, and then back to the ground. They then ran towards the livery stable, entering the building and closing the doors to buy themselves some time.

"Did you see any sign of Misara as we were running?" Rowan asked Olpara as she barred the doors.

Olpara shook her head.

Rowan put her back to the door, looking into the stable. Something had killed the few horses within, rather violently, and for no reason she could fathom, except for cruelty. She closed her eyes as she thought about what to do next.

"Rowan," Olpara said, something catching in her voice. "You better look at this."

She opened her eyes and looked down at the halfling, and then in the direction the halfling was pointing. One of the dead horses was beginning to twitch, its legs kicking at the air, as if it was trying to stand, but did not know how to use its body. From the sounds around them it was not the only horse doing so.

"Okay. Run."

They ran across the hay-strewn floor and up the ladder to the second floor where bales of straw were stored. Rowan tossed a few bales outside so they had a soft landing spot when they jumped.

Again villagers soon beset them, and Rowan was still unwilling to simply hack them apart. As she and Olpara fought she would reach out when she could see the strange threads. As before they would flare when she touched them, making them visible for a moment, and when she did one of the villagers would fall to the ground, not to move again.

It was not a very effective way to battle them, however, and Rowan was considering other options when she spotted the stone structure of what she suspected was a shrine, or small temple.

"Over there," she called to Olpara, and then began to fight her way to the building. The farmers of such villages often set up shrines and temples to Chauntea, and she believed that she and her companion would find sanctuary in a building dedicated to such a goddess.

They reached the building without too much difficult. The symbol carved above the door, a blooming rose in front of a sunburst of grain, was indeed that of Chauntea, but when Rowan forced the doors open and entered she knew immediately that the temple was no longer ground sanctified with the power of the Grain Goddess.

A great deal of blood covered the floors and walls, that and other things smeared across murals and the small altar in the middle of the room. Seated upon the altar was a creature shaped like a woman, but she had four arms, each stretched out from her body, hands wrapped in threads that stretched away from her and disappeared.

She was one of the more beautiful creatures that Rowan had ever seen, but for her sickly white skin, and her black eyes. Those black eyes were turned towards Rowan and seemed to be boring into her. A smile tugged up at the corners of full, red lips.

"Ah," it said in a voice that was high and clear, "I have visitors."

Rowan took a step back, somehow greatly disturbed by those words.

"Should I let my toys take care of you?" it asked.

Behind her Rowan could hear foot falls on the stone steps that led to the door.

"Or maybe I should indulge in my more violent desires?"

For a moment the creature did nothing, then she spread her fingers, and the threads seemed to evaporate. Behind her Rowan heard a sound, as if several bodies had fallen the ground. Puppets with their strings cut, she found herself thinking.

"Your deaths will be most unpleasant," the creature said as she stood, her tall frame seeming to unfold as she rose up from the altar. "I will however enjoy them greatly."

* * *

Misara was pushed near her limits. Chains lashed and slashed about her, seeking ways past her defences. Her sword seemed a blur as she spun it about to keep the chains away from her. Even so, she managed to counterattack, finding gaps in the shield of chains to exploit.

"I will strip your skin from you bones," it said, striking out with a barrage of chains.

Misara shifted to the side, avoiding the brunt of the chains, and used her sword to turn others. Several struck against her armour, with bruising force. One razor tip managed to pierce the fine mesh of elven chain over her right thigh and she felt the warm, wetness of her blood begin to spread out under the padding.

Of course she was not the only one bleeding. The kyton bled from a large number of wounds. Misara had no doubt that that concerned the creature, for normally a kyton's wounds would quickly heal. The blessings on her blade frustrated it in that matter.

There was a rapid flurry of exchanged blows, each combatant picking up a number of new, minor wounds in the process.

"I will find everyone that you care for and kill them!" it screamed.

Misara slid smoothly into a hole in that whirling shield of chains and hacked it across the abdomen with her blade. The kyton talked far too much.

It was a telling blow, easily the direst inflicted in the entire melee. The kyton almost fell in its attempt to get away from Misara and her blade. She did not give it time to recover, but followed it, using her wrist to direct the sword, peppering it with quick blows. They did little real damage, but the kyton was completely overwhelmed by them.

When it finally tried to take the attack to her, to break her forward momentum, she was ready. She feinted to its already wounded side with her sword and then kicked it hard to its opposite side. Such a blow would have easily broken the bones of a mortal creature. The kyton was made of sterner stuff, but it was knocked away from her none the less.

It was at that moment Misara knew she had won part of the battle, for the kyton turned and ran, limping slightly as it did. She had, for the moment, broken its spirit to fight. She used the back of her gauntleted hand to wipe at a trickle of blood running down her face and then set off in pursuit.

* * *

A sword of fire had sprung up in each of the baatezu's hands, and the four-armed creature leapt from the altar, charging Rowan. So fast did it move that it was almost on top of her before Rowan could prepare of the attack.

Four swords crashed against her shield and sword, the force and the heat of those blows forced her to give up ground. She was quickly put on the defensive, almost reduced to hiding behind her shield.

It was strong, and fast, but she did not think much of its skill with the swords. It might be trying to trick her, but she did not think that was the case. Its ability to manipulate the bodies of the dead suggested that it did not often need to fight.

Rowan took a chance; she gave it an obvious opening. No one trained long with the sword would go for such an inelegant ploy. The baatezu did; three of its swords slashed in at the opening to Rowan's side.

She shifted and dropped her shield to intercept the glancing blows. Beating the remaining blade up and out of guard, Rowan stabbed her sword into the creature's chest. The blade did not bite as deep as she would have hoped. The wound did not bleed as much as it should have.

It moved back from her, wary now. The wound, as paltry as it was, had worried it. That would help Rowan, and give her an edge. She hoped.

When it came at her again she blocked its rain of blows, feinted towards its open face and then dropped the tip of her sword down, the tip scoring a line across its throat. It growled at her, and its fighting became more defensive. She took that space for a prayer, entreating Sune for protection from the evil beast.

When it moved forward to attack once more it was brought to a stop by the holy-energy surrounding Rowan. It hissed at her, recoiling as if burnt. For the moment she could hold it off, hold it off in hopes that Misara might come, or that she might be blessed with an epiphany of how to deal with it.

"Hiding behind the power of your god," the baatezu said, and then spat. "Coward."

Rowan smiled. "A power you can't stand against. Your words are empty."

It snarled, then shifted it attention away from Rowan, to something behind her. A smile crossed its face and it began moving.

Olpara, Rowan thought. The creature was going to attack her. She spun about, ready to defend the halfling. Olpara had pushed herself up against the wall, near the door, her eyes opened wide with terror.

As soon as Rowan attacked the creature-a vicious slash across its back that left only a minor wound-the shield that protected her was dispelled. The creature spun around, four swords lashing out. Two slammed against her shield, driving her back. Another almost knocked the sword from her hand. The last one hit her side, its edge turned by her mail, but the heat transferring through to burn her.

For a time Rowan and her opponent traded blow after blow. They were nearly evenly matched, her skill against the creature's strength, speed and reach. And yet Rowan knew that she could not last. Already she could feel the burn beginning in her muscles, could feel her breathing beginning to speed up. It had not yet begun to slow her, but it would. She had to end the battle soon.

Lifting her shield in front of her she spoke a word. A tremor ran through the shield, and then it began to glow. The creature, which had been moving towards her, slowed slightly, made momentarily uncertain.

And then the glow intensified a thousand fold; the creature was bathed in bright, white light. It screamed, for where the light fell it's skin turned red, and in some places blistered. It backed away, throwing its arms over its face to protect it.

Rowan pushed forward, even as the shield's light began to dim. She slammed the shield against the creature, the last few motes of light on it brought into direct contact with the baatezu's skin. There was a sizzling sound, though it was nearly lost in the screams.

Pulling the spent shield away she followed up with a slash across the beast's shoulder, cutting one of its arms free of its torso, the blade continuing to cut deep through the burnt flesh. Rowan turned the blade, pulled it free, moved back, and set her defence.

The creature did not seem intent on attacking. While it was obvious that its burns pained it far more than the wound it had taken, it stared down at its severed arm with rapt fascination. The flaming blade in the hand of the severed arm sputtered and then went out.

It looked up from its lost appendage to Rowan. The look on its face was almost comical, but Rowan was in no mood to laugh. She fully expected a powerful rage to follow the moment of confusion.

Before that happened, however, a large object came flying through the doors. There was the sound of chains rattling together as it hit the temple floor. Rowan recognized it as the kyton, though the last time she had seen it, it had had its head.

The Baatezu turned to look at the open door. Rowan shifted back and looked as well, careful however not to lose sight of her adversary.

Misara came through the doors, limping, her armour stained with blood in several places, gleaming sword held in her hand. She looked around, and then started walking towards the baatezu, lifting her sword, looking as if her wounds hardly bothered her.

Something about Misara seemed to capture and hold the baatezu's attention. Rowan, not about to pass up the advantage, leapt forward, swinging her sword out in a wide arc, putting as much power into the blow as she could manage. The edge of the blade caught the creature low on its neck.

A moment later the creature's head, with its beautiful face, hit the floor, bounced, and rolled towards the altar. Its body remained standing for a few seconds, and then fell to the floor, landing in a tangle of limbs.

Misara stopped and looked at the body, then at Rowan. She grounded the tip of her sword on the temple's floor. "Good work," she said, and then collapsed to her knees.

* * *

Beneath his robe a brass disk grew warm. Jaztar pushed his chair back from his desk and reached under his robe to bring forth the disk. He did something to it and it opened like a clamshell; within floated motes of different coloured lights. Each one represented a creature he had summoned, in one way or another.

He watched as a dull yellow light flickered, and then went out. Sertasus. Sertasus had been defeated, banished back to the hells. That was going to cause Jaztar some trouble. He thought it was just surprise he felt at first, but after a moment he realised there was fear as well.

Defeating Sertasus would be no small feat.

He had thought that the kyton could deal with Misara. Had thought Sertasus and Egantar would be enough. Was he wrong? It had been twenty years since he had last faced the Paladin; twenty long years. In that time he had become smarter, wiser, more cunning; it helped offset the lost speed and strength that age had stolen.

The problem, he thought, was that Misara was twenty years smarter as well, but just as fast and strong. If she tied him in with the attack, if she came after him...

His train of thought was derailed as another mote of light, that representing Egantar, winked out as well.

Both of them dead, and so quickly.

It was difficult to accept.

After a moment he mastered his fear and disbelief.

Egantar was a powerful creature, but prone to foolish mistakes. It was quite possible that such a mistake had ended its life.

And Sertasus, as powerful as it was, liked dealing out pain far more than receiving it. A truly skilled opponent could easily manage to unnerve Sertasus, and quite likely Misara was that skilled. That did not mean she would be Jaztar's doom.

He would watch, and if it appeared she might come after him, then he would react, but for the moment Misara was not his primary concern. More immediate was that two powerful devils had been destroyed on the material plane, and likely they would blame him for that.

He snapped the brass device closed and returned it to under his robes. He would have to be careful in his dealing with such creatures for the foreseeable future.


	17. Funerary Rites

**Chapter 17- Funerary Rites**  
by Shawn Hagen 

They came back to Hill Crown a little after dawn. It was a just a few survivors, approaching quietly, looking as if they might bolt at the slightest sound. Tired, white faced, apparently beaten down by fear. Rowan watched them approach from the one of the wall towers. As they got closer she went to wake the others, but found Misara already awake.

"There are some people coming. I think they are surviving villagers."

Misara nodded. "Do you want to meet them or should I?"

"I'll go meet them."

"Then I'll stay on watch here."

"I'll call out if there is any trouble," Rowan told her.

"I'll be ready."

Rowan climbed down from the tower and then went to meet the returnees. She chose a place near the front gate where she would wait. She hoped that a friendly and human face would lessen their possible fear.

One of them noticed her as he came close. He stopped, and looked like he might bolt, but instead waved his hand, bringing the other people to a stop.

She could see them better in the growing light, and now that they were closer. She did not think they were a threat to anyone but themselves at that moment.

The man who had seen her called out, softly, "Who are you? What do you want here?" He looked as if he was ready to run.

"My name is Rowan Jassan, Paladin of Sune," she called out in a loud voice. It made the people cringe, as if the noise might bring enemies. "The creatures that brought such harm to this village have been destroyed."

The man looked at her, a mixture of disbelief and relief warring on his face.

"I'm..." he started, and then looked back at those with him. Whatever he saw there seemed to give him strength. "I'm Joseph Glaizer, my father is," he paused, "was the headman of Hill Crown."

Rowan nodded. "We came here yesterday, a few hours before the sun set."

"They attacked yesterday morning. We did not know what was going on at first. It was sudden, our friends and family began attacking us... We did not know what to do, only a few of us managed to get away."

"There were two creatures, devils. They've both been destroyed."

"Were there... Were there any survivors?"

Rowan shook her head. "No, I'm sorry. Everyone was dead when we arrived."

A woman in the back of the group let out a cry, and then collapsed to her knees. Rowan closed her eyes, not wanting to see the open grief on the woman's face. After a moment she opened them. "We can help you, a little," she offered. She was thinking of money, and a few other things she had Misara might do for them. It would not be much.

Joseph took a step closer. "Thank you, we would appreciate that."

* * *

Hours later Rowan stood on a small rise, looking over the village's graveyard. The number of fresh graves far outnumbered the older graves, and more we being dug even as she watched.

That was what she and Misara had been helping with since the morning. Bodies had been placed in a few coffins available-the carpenter had been among the dead-and then, when the coffins were gone, wrapped the remaining bodies in whatever cloth was available. A few surviving oxen were dragging wagons filled with the dead up the hill to the gravesites. Iron had also been pressed into service to pull the wagons, doing it far faster than the other animals.

The horse was as untiring as its mistress, Rowan thought. Misara had been digging graves without stop, saying a prayer over each body as it was lowered into the earth. Rowan had been doing the same, but she had grown tired and had needed rest.

As she watched Misara pull herself from a grave she wondered how many times the elven woman might have done similar work. She turned away and walked up the small hill, to the top, where Olpara sat under a tree. The halfling stared down at the work below, but Rowan suspected that she did not see it.

She took a seat beside Olpara, brushed the dirt from the knees of her breaches and then said, "They are not staying."

Olpara blinked her eyes a few times and then said, "What?"

"The surviving villagers, they are not staying here."

"Too many bad memories," Olpara said quietly.

Rowan nodded. "Some of them even wanted to burn everything down, but Joseph convinced them otherwise. Maybe they will come back here, after some time."

"Someone else may claim it," Olpara said, and then asked, "Where will they go?"

"One of the other villages in the area. I think Joseph hopes to bring back a group of young men and women, with the promise of lands and homes."

"This will be a haunted place," Olpara said.

Rowan sighed. "Likely so, but Joseph seems to be unwilling to give up." She paused. "I think you should go with them."

Olpara turned to look at Rowan, a look of surprise on her face.

Rowan continued. "It's far too dangerous. I realise that now. I'm sorry that I have put you in such situations. Go with them, head home," she smiled, "go see that flying boat."

Olpara shook her head. "I don't want to leave."

Rowan said nothing.

"You don't understand. I didn't understand until yesterday. Rowan, you find me attractive, don't you?"

Rowan smiled. "Yes, but that has nothing to do with things."

"I liked that when we first met. Everyone likes to feel that they are attractive to others. And when you asked me to come along with you, after," she paused, "the moors, I thought that you simply wanted to be with me. That's not it though."

"I did want to be with you, but I also thought that setting out with Misara and I might be good for you. It might help you get over what happened."

"I lost myself on those moors," Olpara said. "Lost who I was. I realised that yesterday, when I was too frightened to do anything. That's not who I am. If I don't come with you I may never find that person again. Please," she reached out and gabbed one of Rowan's hands in both of hers, "let me come with you."

Rowan was at a loss. She knew, knew for certain, that Olpara would be in great danger if she continued to travel with she and Misara. And at the same time, she could not ignore the desperate pleading in Olpara's eyes.

She wanted the halfling to be safe and happy. Sadly she did not think that it was possible that Olpara could be both, not now.

"You can travel with us, if you wish to," Rowan finally said. "We'll be happy for your presence."

Olpara did not smile, but she relaxed slightly. "Thank you," she said.

Rowan nodded, and freed her hand from Olpara's grasp. She did not feel as if Olpara should really be thanking her.

* * *

The last of the bodies was lowered into the grave. Someone had brought a rain barrel to the site and Misara took a moment to wash the dirt from her arms and hands. She turned back to the grave and reached to her belt pouch, removing the bottle of holy water from within. She sprinkled a few drops upon the cloth wrapped corpse and said a simple prayer.

When she was done she helped the others in filling the grave. A piece of board was pounded into the dirt as a marker. They were done.

Misara stretched, reaching her arms into the air, feeling the slight burn in her muscles. It had been hard work, digging the graves. She would be glad to take some time to rest up.

Joseph shuffled up to her, looking down at the fresh dirt. "I guess we're done," he said.

Misara nodded, but said nothing.

"Do you think we should leave now? Or maybe into the hiding places in the woods, wait until morning."

Misara moved her head from side to side, stretching the muscles in her neck. "I plan to spend the evening in the village," she told him.

"But, after all the evil that happened there, well, it can't be safe."

"It's likely safer than hiding in the woods, or wandering the roads in the darkness." She turned to look at him. "There is no danger there right now. And the future danger is likely to come from sources outside."

"What do you mean?" he asked, sounding slightly alarmed.

She turned and looked down at the village. "If you do not return soon, I see this place becoming a base for marauders."

Joseph shook his head. "We will return soon. Just as soon as we get some more people to come back."

"Are you certain of that?" she returned her attention to the man. He shifted from one foot to the other, obviously uncomfortable.

"I'm sure that many will want to come back with me. The offer of farms, and homes, and..." His words trailed off and he looked lost.

"I hope that you are right Headman Glaizer."

He acted almost as if she had slapped him. He shook his head. "No, I'm no Headman. I couldn't be."

"Are you certain?"

He nodded emphatically.

"Well, I'm sure that you'll find someone willing to take that responsibility." She turned away from him and walked towards where Iron was chewing on the spring grass. She began to take the harness from him, knowing he would be happier once free of the wagon.

* * *

The stars were bright in the sky above. Misara, clean, dressed in a silk shift, sat in one of the watchtowers, her sword close at hand, watching the sky. The cool air did not bother her, nor did the hard floor of the watchtower. She had rested, drifted in and out of reverie for the past few hours, and was simply waiting for the sun to rise so that she might continue on.

Below her she heard the low conversation between two of the villagers on watch. The fear in their voices said far more than their words. She knew that Joseph's hope of attracting a new population to the village was a lost one. The fear of the survivors, if nothing else, would see to that.

Perhaps if Joseph had been willing to take up the role of a leader, to passionately take up his own plan and fight for it, then that might have made a difference.

The village would sit empty until something moved in that was not concerned about the haunted place it had become.

She thought that maybe she should set the village to the torch, after the surviving villagers had left of course. It would really be for the best. It would also be far easier destroying the village now before it became a base to some evil creature or another.

Some would likely curse her for such an action, but Misara knew the history of lands like this, had lived that history, and she knew that destroying the village would be for the best.

She shifted silently to her feet, walked across the wooden platform, and stood on the edge. She looked up at the stars, and then at the quiet, empty fields around her. The tactical part of her thoughts recognized that she was a target-with the pale shift she wore, and her pale skin-to those with good night vision. She was not concerned with that.

It was, in its way, a beautiful place. It was unfortunate that it had the poor luck to be on her path, that someone who had wanted to attack her had felt the need to hurt these people to do so.

Gently she dropped to the platform, her legs folding under her so that she knelt on the edge. She remained so in quiet contemplation until the sun rose.

* * *

In the end Misara did not burn the village down, but that had more to do with not having the chance rather than having reached any decision on the matter.

The people of the village, with carts loaded full of their possessions, and anything of real value, knew that they would present a tempting target to bandits. Misara did not feel she had the time it would take to escort the people and their possessions to the nearest settlement, but she did not say no. It would be day wasted, perhaps two, but all she could hope for was to make the time up later.

They set out when the sun was still low in the eastern sky, the carts creaking as the oxen slowly plodded up the road.


	18. The Gathering of Enemies

**Chapter 18 - The Gathering of Enemies**  
by Shawn Hagen

Kesk had set off with his new warriors in high spirits. His orcs had shared his view, feeling that they were reclaiming their birthright. That had not lasted long.

One day after he had taken the orcs away from Umar things had changed. It had been a little before the sun was at its highest when the cloaks, marked with the symbol of the Tusk Warriors, began to unravel. Within minutes the cloaks had gone, nothing but threads remaining, leaving the orcs with no protection from the sun.

The Tusk Warriors had never bothered to get used to the light of the sun. The cloaks had given them all the protection they needed. With the cloaks gone they blinked against the bright light of the noonday sun and were not pleased.

And, already upset with that, some noticed that swords and armour were rusting away. Again, those were items marked with the symbol of the Tusk Warriors. Kesk had heard angry muttering as his orcs suddenly began to rethink their decisions.

Sheepa and Agars yelled at them, Sheepa had hit one of them, knocking him from his mount. Kesk cursed softly before giving the order that they would find some shelter to wait the day out in.

That announcement had helped the situation somewhat, but the time lost angered him. And it was not just that day as it took two days for the orcs to adjust to the new pattern of movement and rest that they had to operate under.

They had raided a small caravan on the second day and that improved spirits. Lost equipment was replaced and each orc left with a small bit of loot to keep him happy.

Two days after the raid Kesk felt that they had made up lost time and were perhaps only a day behind Misara and those she travelled with. His band had taken refuge in a rocky gully near the road, resting and waiting out of the worst of the light. As soon as they were ready he would set them on the road again.

Kesk had been sleeping, his back up against a rock, when he was awoken by the sound of a nearby footfall. He opened his one eye up slightly to see who was near. It was Olgar. For a moment he thought that the big orc might be thinking of killing him for leadership of the band, but he decided that was not the case. Olgar had something to tell him.

"What is it?" Kesk asked.

Olgar started a little, obviously not thinking Kesk awake. "One of the sentries has spotted a caravan," he spoke quickly. "Lightly guarded. Should we raid it?"

Kesk considered it. Another raid would be good for morale, but it would also cost him time and would disturb his orcs' rest. "What did the sentry say? Exactly what did he say?"

Olgar's brow furrowed. After a few seconds he said, "Twelve loaded wagons, pulled by oxen, maybe twenty mules with packs. A few guards on horseback."

Twelve loaded wagons was certainly a prize: Or a trap. If it were a prize he would lose precious time as the loot was argued over and split up. If it was a trap he could lose his band. He shook his head. "Let it go. We'll find better after we've poured out the elf's blood."

Greed was a strong motivator, but so was blood lust. Every day Kesk engendered a stronger hatred for elves in his band. He had built up the idea of killing Misara to a point where his orcs wanted it almost as bad as he did.

Olgar nodded and smiled before leaving, off to tell the sentry to get back to watch. Kesk reached out and placed his hand on the head of his spear, the metal cool beneath his fingers. They wanted her almost as bad as he did, never as much as he did. Never that.

* * *

Liman had never had much respect for orcs, and nothing he had seen had changed that. He had started following the band that was attempting to catch up to the elf. He was fairly certain that they meant to bring harm to her, if they were to get the chance.

He did not think they would.

They appeared to be a group of idiots, allowing their quarry to ride by them. Hoping that the orcs might do his job for him was fruitless. He was going to have to get his hands, and claws, dirty. It was time for him to act.

He moved close, in human form, to where the group the Paladin was escorting had stopped to rest. Slow bunch, very old and very young people, overloaded animals and carts, none of it meant for quick travel.

He crawled further along, downwind of the horses, and then shifted to tiger form. With the greater stealth offered by four legs he moved up on his target. A man, neither old nor young, who had moved some distance from the group in order to relieve himself in private.

Liman waited until the man had pulled his breeches up and had turned back towards the wagons before pouncing. He lashed out with a paw. Even without his claws the strength of the blow alone was enough to snap the man's neck and the body fell to the ground.

Using his teeth to grasp the body's shoulder, careful not to break the skin, he dragged the dead man away.

Now it was time to see what the Paladin and her companions did.

* * *

"We're moving too slow," Rowan said.

Misara nodded and glanced towards the sky. "I had hoped to reach Crooked Tree before night fell."

Rowan sighed loudly. "Bad enough that we had to retrace our trail, but that we have to retrace them so slowly is torture."

Misara could not disagree, but she chose to say nothing. There was nothing she could do to goad the villagers into moving faster. Nothing that was in any way diplomatic.

"Ladies," a voice called from behind them," please, I must speak with you."

Misara directed Iron off the trail and then halted him. She could see that Rowan was doing the same with Rose Thorn. An older girl ran up to stand by Rose Thorn's stirrup, looking up at Rowan. "My father, Warren, has gone missing." She looked from Rowan to Misara. "He left us at the last stop, said he would be back shortly, but he did not come back." The words came tumbling from her mouth, almost too fast to understand. "Please, you must find him."

Rowan muttered a rather colourful curse, too soft for the girl to hear, but Misara heard it, and agreed with the sentiment behind it. These people were causing no end of trouble.

"Should I go and look for him or will you?" Misara asked. She kept her tone calm in hopes of assuaging the girl's fears and panic. Two of the ox carts had rolled by them as they talked at the side of the trail, the drivers watching with curiosity as they passed.

"Olpara and I will go. She might have a spell that will help to track him."

"Very well."

Rowan smiled, and then turned Rose Thorn about to head back the way they had just come. "Olpara," she called out, "we have some work to do."

The halfling, who had been riding ahead, turned her horse and rode off after Rowan.

Misara looked down at the girl. "What's your name?"

"Blue, my Lady."

"Don't worry Blue. Rowan will find your father."

Misara's reassuring words apparently made the girl feel better for she smiled. Misara wondered if Rowan would bring her father back safe. That was not something she was about to promise the girl.

* * *

Rowan could still see the wagons when she returned to the spot of the last rest stop. The wagons would crest a rise in the land and then disappear behind it in a few minutes. She hoped to find Warren before then. She hoped that she would find the man napping, drunk, constipated or any other harmless thing that would explain him not following after the wagons.

"Let's work out in a spiral," she told Olpara. "See if we can find any sign of what might have happened, if anything. Unless you have a spell?"

Olpara shook her head. "If he was carrying something unique, I know a spell that could track it, but not him."

"Let's go then," Rowan said, starting on the outward spiral.

Both Rowan and Olpara found signs of the rest break they had taken. There was churned up ground, bits of detritus and other leavings. Some distance from the trail Olpara spotted a trail in the grass.

Rowan looked along the trail back towards the road. "Something was dragged along here."

"No blood," Olpara said.

"Strange."

"Maybe he found something of value," Olpara suggested. "I hear things are always turning up in the Fields. He may have dragged it off to hide it. A man who has just lost everything may not feel like sharing such good fortune."

Rowan nodded. Such greed was not rare. "Let's follow." She gently squeezed Rose Thorn with her heels and set him in motion.

They followed the path easily, their horses moving forward at a quick walk. In a short time the trail ended. Rowan and Olpara scanned the ground, walking their horses around the immediate area. It was Olpara who found a footprint in a bit of soft dirt not far from where the trail ended.

"So, he took off his boots and then picked up and carried his find away from this point?"

Rowan shook her head. "It does not sound too likely." She drew her sword. "Let's see if we can follow this trail."

It was not as clear a trail as before, but it went straight, and they were able to find signs, a footprint, an area of crushed grass, broken twigs and the like. Rowan thought someone truly skilled at tracking would have been able to find such things much faster.

It led them, after a time, to a shallow bowl, in which grew a thick tangle of brambles and bushes. "I think that we might find what we are looking for in there," Rowan said. She looked at Olpara and smiled.

"Why do I think that you want me to crawl into that?"

"Because you're very perceptive."

Olpara mumbled something, most of which Rowan could not hear, but she thought there might have been something about 'stupid big people'. Then the halfling swung off her horse, climbing down the stirrup.

Rowan dismounted as well, and walked towards the growth ahead of Olpara. She looked down at trail; it looked as if something was being dragged again. She swung out with her sword, cutting through the branches, opening up a hole. "Warren," she called out loudly, cutting deeper. "Warren, answer me."

No one called out to her. Some birds rose up out of the brambles and flew off. Rowan cut a little deeper into the tangle before moving back out, getting her cloak and her tabard caught on the thorns as she did so. "I don't think there is anything in there," she told Olpara.

"Or if there it is smart enough to stay hidden." She was pulling on a pair of leather, work gloves. "I'll see what I can find." She moved around Rowan and into the hole that she had hacked open. After looking about Olpara got on to her hands and knees and crawled deeper into the thicket.

A short time later she called out, "I think I found him. He's dead."

Rowan was not that surprised. "Can you pull him out?"

"Just give me a little time."

From within the bushes Rowan heard the sounds of something being moved around, and then grunts from Olpara as she exerted herself. When the halfling finally pulled the body from the thicket she was covered in sweat, and there were scratches on her face from the thorns.

Rowan laid a hand on Olpara's face, healing those scratches even as she knelt down to look at the body.

"His neck is broken," Olpara said. "No other wounds I can see."

Rowan pulled his clothing back to see if there were wounds hidden under the cloth. She found some small, shallow holes in the skin of his shoulder.

"Some kind of animal bite?" Olpara suggested.

"Why not deeper. Why not eat him?"

"Was he carrying something, or was he being carried?" Olpara asked.

"Damnation!" Rowan said and pulled her cloak off.

"What?"

"This is just a diversion." She began to wrap the body in her cloak. "We were led here to get us away from the caravan, maybe just away from Misara."

* * *

Misara rode along the Caravan's length, scanning the area about the trail, hoping that Rowan and Olpara might return soon. She would be happy when the refugees were no longer her concern. She reached the front of the caravan and slowed Iron with a pull on his mane. The Horse snorted, but followed her commands. She could tell that he wanted to run, to be away from the slow moving people, mules, and oxen.

There were screams behind her, and a piercing roar. Iron spun about smoothly as Misara drew back the string of her bow, ready to take aim and let the arrow fly.

Something large and white had landed on the back of one of the oxen near the middle of the caravan. The ox had let out the initial scream, but Misara suspected that it was beyond making any noise. It looked as if the white animal had torn out the back of its neck.

She had just about lined her shot in the heartbeat that followed, but then Iron shifted under her. Following her instincts she dropped low across the horse's back, releasing the arrow as she did so. It would not hit.

Something passed over her, hit her across her armoured shoulders, knocking her from Iron's back.

Iron reared up above her, his front hooves slashing in the air, at the dark-red blur that had landed a few hand spans from her. She had lost her bow in the fall. That was embarrassing.

Rolling to the side, she got out from under her horse, away from the tiger. It was definitely a tiger. Her mind was filling in the blanks, putting the information together as a coherent whole. She recalled the weretiger she had fought near the High Forest and knew that it was not a coincidence she faced another tiger.

Iron dropped his front feet to the ground, and then leapt away from the red tiger. He had bought her a small respite with his actions. He was not about to remain close after having saved her.

She came up on her knees, reaching for her sword. The tiger, it was a huge animal, leapt at her. With no time to draw the sword she instead pulled a dagger from the sheath at her back. It slid out, whipping around, coming between her and the tiger. It was not much, it was nothing, but at the moment it was what she had to use.

Strangely, the tiger balked at the dagger, twisting about to keep out of its reach. It thinks it is poisoned silver, Misara thought. Like the one she had used on the last weretiger. She hurled the dagger at the creature she was certain was a weretiger and it leapt back and away so that the dagger missed. She had the space and time to draw her sword, coming up off her knees into a crouch.

The weretiger growled at her and circled her from right to left, its fangs bared, its eyes locked on her. She turned on the balls of her feet, keeping her eyes on the tiger. It was waiting for a moment of inattentiveness to leap.

She heard the rumble of hooves off to her side, and then growling. Iron and the white tiger, she thought, but did not take her eyes from the beast in front of her. She would trust Iron to keep the other occupied.

The red weretiger had not looked towards the noise, it continued to circle her. And then it suddenly reversed its movement and leapt at her. Shifting about, dropping to one knee, Misara raised her sword so it shielded her from the tiger. The creature made an attempt to slash at her with its long, front claws, but Misara shifted her sword about quickly, blocking one attack and turning the other so the claws only grazed her cheek.

The weretiger hit the ground some distance away. It dug its claws into the turf to spin about and then came right back at her. Misara, still on one knee, turned quickly, sword in both hands, bringing the steel to meet the tiger.

It leapt high, over her attack, paw lashing down, hitting armour, knocking her to the side. Misara rolled with the considerable force of the blow, tumbling across the trail and then up onto her feet.

She spun her sword about, making it a barrier of razor-sharp steel. The sword caught the tiger across its right foreleg as it lunged at her, knocking its attack off true. As it passed to her side she kicked it, catching it in the ribs. The force of the kick sent it spinning off to the side.

Misara charged after it, but the weretiger brought itself to a stop, claws leaving shallow furrows in the ground as it came about to face her. Fast, Misara thought as she dodged a blow from its front claws, and too smart. Its jaws closed on the space her wrist had been a moment before. The teeth had come together with a loud snap that left no illusions as to what would have happed had it caught her wrist.

Both of them were bleeding, neither particularly hurt, and Misara could feel her heart thumping in her chest, she had begun to breathe hard. She suspected that the weretiger was in similar shape. She did not want to fight to go on so long that they both got tired and stupid so that the first to make a mistake would die. She did not want to give that white tiger a chance to drive Iron off and then come charging at her back.

She and the weretiger each made several more attacks, rapid manoeuvres that each one barely managed to stop. For moments each held the superior position, but neither could keep it. They were evenly matched.

Misara shifted her sword to a one handed grip as she stepped to the side to avoid the weretiger's lunge. She grasped her sheath, used the attachment to her weapon belt as a pivot point, and brought the metal shod tip up hard, catching the weretiger across its muzzle. The beast let out a scream of anger, and a little pain, and stumped, fell, and rolled some distance from her.

Pressing her thumb against a small catch on the clip caused the sheath to come free of her belt. She lifted it up and pointed the mouth towards the weretiger. A whispered word and the metal at the mouth of the sheath grew cold in her hand. From within the sheath came a wind, as powerful as a gale, and within that were the blossoms of a thousand flowers.

The weretiger, caught in the gale, blinded by the white, purple, pink, red and black blossoms, let out a scream of rage, but Misara shifted about, keeping the beast caught squarely in the wind. She placed her sword in wind. It was almost pulled from her hands. The weretiger screamed in rage once more. She released the sword.

The scream of anger became one of pain.

Misara stopped the wind.

The blossoms fell from the air, raining down upon the ground like snow.

The weretiger stood unsteadily, a deep, red wound along its left side. Blood poured from the wound, like ale from a shattered keg, and the weretiger swayed unsteadily on its feet. Some paces behind it Misara could see her sword, speared deep into the ground.

She heard Iron scream a warning, and the growl of the white tiger. She spun to the side, avoiding the beast's lunge. The red weretiger was moving away, running as fast as its wound would allow. Misara suspected that it was in a great deal of pain. The white tiger, its muzzle covered in blood from the dead ox, leapt at her, a tentative attack, forcing Misara to keep its attention on it. It was allowing the weretiger to escape.

Iron came running up, hooves thundering as it charged the white tiger. Misara pulled a throwing knife from a sheath on her wrist and hurled it. The white tiger shifted slightly and batted the knife away from it, sending it speeding off in Iron's direction. The horse was in no danger of being hit, but it shied slightly and slowed its charge.

Misara was impressed, but she suspected that part of it was luck, and she could see a small stain of red on the paw. The white tiger made as if to charge Iron but instead turned towards Misara.

She waited until the white tiger had committed itself to the attack, leaping at her and then dropped prone to the ground, letting the tiger pass over her. She arched her back and kicked up with her right foot. It felt as if an ogre had hit the heel of her foot with a club, and her leg was slammed back to the ground.

The white tiger hit the ground, one of its legs folding under it, and flipped over several times. It looked rather painful, Misara thought. She got to her feet, ignoring the numbness in her right foot, and then dashed towards her fallen bow.

The white tiger rolled onto its feet, shifting back, favouring its left, front paw. It looked about, as if assessing the situation, and then turned and fled.

Misara grabbed her bow, cast about for an arrow, saw one, snatched it up, and then had the arrow nocked and drawn in a heartbeat. The white tiger was running full out, hampered only a little by its injured leg. It was moving in a zigzag pattern that might have given other archers a problem. Misara sighted and then hesitated. She recalled the green dragon she had killed not so long ago.

The white tiger was not evil, of that she was certain. It was her enemy, but it was a beaten, hurt enemy. She felt no desire to kill it.

She released her arrow. It sped across the grassland and buried itself into the white tiger's shoulder. The beast stumbled, but kept running. Misara grasped about for another arrow. Even as she grabbed the arrow she saw the white tiger crest a small rise and then disappear into the dead ground beyond.

A normal animal might bleed to death from the wound, but Misara thought the white tiger also a weretiger. The arrow she had used would not kill it. She looked at the arrow she held, at the silver edged tip.

Iron walked up to her and nickered softly, nudging her shoulder with his nose. She turned towards the horse, gently pushing his head away. She saw a set of three, nearly parallel claw marks in Iron's flank. They were not deep, but she suspected that they pained her horse. She reached over and put her hand against him, close to the wound.

The claw marks stopped bleeding and then began to close up. After a few seconds there was nothing left but patches where the hair had been torn away.

Of her wounds, none of them seemed of any real concern. She had some salves and bandages that would be treatment enough.

She swung up onto his back and then unstrung her bow and secured it. The people about her, many who had run from the wagons when the tigers had attacked, were coming back. Some children were crying and many of the people there looked scared.

None of them had tried to help her.

It was an uncharitable thought, Misara realised. They were not supposed to fight weretigers. They were farmers. It was her duty to keep people like that safe. Keep them safe, no matter how she might do it.

She rode Iron over to her sword. She leaned over, holding tight with her legs, and grasped the hilt. She straightened, pulling the blade free. From one of her saddlebags she removed and oily rag. As the villagers looked about to make certain everything was all right she cleaned the blood and dirt from her weapon. Once it shone she tossed the rag aside and turned Iron back to the Caravan.

Some men were trying to free the dead ox from its harness. They were arguing over which other cart could give up an ox for the cart they stood near. The cart in question was loaded with kegs and barrels. Beer, wine and a brandy made from apples. Valuable stuff.

Misara directed Iron in close and then cut through the yoke and harness, letting the dead ox fall. Some of the men shouted in surprise. One pointed out that she had ruined the harness. She was not listening.

Iron came around the back of the cart under her direction and she slashed the bands holding the kegs and then knocked open the back gate. Iron danced aside as the kegs and barrels rolled off, hit the ground with dull booms. One shattered, spilling a white wine all over the road.

"What're ya doing?" an older man yelled.

"Get everyone in these wagons, or on a mule," Misara ordered, and leaned over to slash a pack from one of the mules. The pack made a clanking sound as it fell to the ground, and the flap opened, revealing pewter mugs within.

She rode Iron to the front of the caravan so everyone might see her. "Listen to me," she raised her voice. "I will set a pace that will bring me to Crooked Tree before the sun sets, before the gates close. If you cannot keep up you can fend for yourselves."

"You can't do that," someone yelled.

"Our things," another called.

"Keep up or fend for yourselves," Misara told them, and then turned Iron around and started down the road at a quick pace.

There were more angry and dismayed calls from behind her, but she also heard the sound of things falling to the road as loads were made lighter. She did not look back, would not look back. She needed these people to move, and if fear of abandonment was the only way to do so, then so be it.

Fortunately she felt certain that Rowan and Olpara would be following, and those two could take care of any stragglers.

When Rowan finally did return she did not immediately make her way to where Misara rode. Misara could hear the shouts of villagers as they asked questions or made demands of Rowan. Some of them likely thought they might have a better ally in Rowan. She heard some request to go back and retrieve items left behind. She did not hear Rowan's answers to those requests.

When Rowan finally rode up beside Misara, Olpara a horse length behind, Misara asked, "What of Warren?"

"Dead," Rowan told her. "Killed to separate us."

Misara nodded. "Have you told Blue yet?"

"I did. One of her aunts is looking after her."

Misara suddenly felt she should not have hesitated over her bowshot. "Any stragglers?"

"No. They are all in a tight little group, keeping up with you. What exactly happened here? I've heard there were cat beast of all kinds."

"Just two. Weretigers."

"Just like the attack outside of the High Forest you told me about."

"Exactly. Whoever this Asharass is, he, she, they or it is trying to stop me from finding out more. However, it is not using any forces directly related to it. It wants to avoid anything being traced back to it. Or having any of its people divulge any information."

"The demons. That undead monster. These weretigers. I wonder what else?"

"I hope we had exhausted any resources this Asharass might have, though I fear it is unlikely."

Rowan nodded. "These people, they are upset," she said, changing the subject.

"I know."

"It will make ensure that they live to see Crooked Tree."

"Agreed. Let's pick up the pace a little."

* * *

Shisii shifted forms, the transformation healing some of the damage she had taken, easing the pain in her arm. The elf had kicked her hard, and the attack had taken her by surprise. There was also the arrow in her shoulder. She reached up with her small hand, grasped the shaft, and pulled.

That hurt. A great deal. She hissed in pain and threw the arrow away from herself. Shifting back to her tiger form healed more of the damage. She knew that the wounds were not a threat and would heal soon enough. She was more concerned with Liman than herself. It had looked as if he was gravely injured.

She grew more concerned when she found the blood trail he had left. That he was still bleeding was a bad sign, but he was also leaving a trail that anything might follow. She sprinted off in the direction Liman had gone.

He was in the small camp they had set up. In human form he was desperately holding his wound closed. With both hands occupied in keeping him for bleeding to death he was not able to do anything else.

Shisii took her human form and moved close to him. He looked at her, tried to speak, but was too weak. Shisii reached for a small bag near Liman. From it she took out two vials, each one sealed with cork and wax.

She removed the wax from one and then pulled the cork free. She put it near Liman's lips and, when he parted them, slowly began to pour the contents into his mouth. For a moment she thought he might be to weak to swallow, but his throat worked and he got it down.

He grew stronger with each swallow, the blood-flow from the wound at his side slowing and then stopping.

Shisii put the empty vial aside and opened the second. Liman reached out, grabbed the vial from her, and upended it into his mouth. She took a few steps back, waiting.

"Thank you," he told her a short time later, sitting up. He ran his hands over the wound that had been freely bleeding not so long ago. It was almost completely healed, only a small amount of scabbing present.

"Should we go after the elf now?" she asked him.

Liman shook his head. "I need some time to properly heal."

Shisii did not say anything. She shifted to her tiger form and walked off, to patrol the perimeter of the camp. Liman would not say it, but he was afraid of the elf. She did not blame him for she was afraid the elf as well.

He would not admit that to himself and he would likely wish to continue to follow after her. Shisii did not want to attack her again, but if Liman decided to do so, then she would follow.

She hoped that they would survive the encounter if it came.


	19. An Old Man's Story

**Chapter 19 - An Old Man's Story**  
by Shawn Hagen 

The people of Crooked Tree were a little stunned to see so many people show up at their gates, all of the refugees needing shelter and help. It was spring however, and the planting season to come would need extra hands. And while barrels of wine and other such things had been left on the trail, the refugees brought with them seeds for planting, tools, and their own knowledge as farmers.

They would be made welcome enough.

Misara left Rowan to handle the negotiations that might be needed. A little village like Crooked Tree did not have a proper Inn or tavern, but there were a handful of houses that were larger than they needed to be, and they always had a room or two that could be used by a traveller.

Misara cleaned up, and then bandaged her wounds, none of them serious enough to warrant magical healing of any type. She was pulling on a long shirt when someone knocked on her door and she heard the woman who owned the house say, "Lady Dawntide, there are some men who wish to speak with you."

"Just a moment," Misara said, tucking the tails of the shirt into her breeches and then she reached for her weapon belt. She buckled the belt around her hips before opening the door.

The woman, the local midwife as Misara recalled, nodded politely to Misara. "They are waiting by the door," she said. She was wearing an apron and Misara suspected that the visitors had taken her away from something she considered important.

She preceded Misara, leading her down the stairs to the front door. Misara could see two people standing just beyond the open door. "Lady Dawntide," she said politely, and then walked towards the kitchen.

"Thank you," Misara said to her as the woman left. She turned her attention to the two men. One she recognised, a younger man, one of Crooked Tree's militia-farmers. She had spoken to him, among others, when she had been there before. His name was Fator. The man beside him, perhaps a year or two younger than Fator, was likely another of the militia-farmers that protected the village.

"Lady Dawntide," Fator said, "this is my friend, Yelv Woolsen."

"Yelv," she said, smiling at him.

Yelv's cheeks coloured slightly. "Good evening Lady Dawntide."

"Yelv here came back from patrol after you left the other day. We got to talking about you and the questions you asked and..."

"Well," Yelv interrupted, "I think that maybe my Grand Da might know something. Grand Da used to be an adventurer you know, a long time ago, and he tells a lot of stories." Yelv was speaking fast, as if he wanted to get everything out as soon as possible. "He told me about a buried castle once, an elf castle he says."

Misara wondered if she could be that lucky. She had come back to Crooked Tree only to deliver the refuges somewhere safe. Now it looked as if she might have her first, solid lead on where Grey Mist Keep was. "I would certainly like to speak to him," she said.

Yelv nodded and smiled. "I'll take you," he told her.

"Thank you." She looked at Fator. "Thank you for bringing Yelv to speak with me."

Both men looked pleased at her compliments. Fator told them that he would be going to the smithy, leaving Yelv to lead her.

He took her to the night gate and then led her out of the village.

Crooked Tree, like many of the villages in the Fields of the Dead, had started as a walled compound from which the farmers operated out of. As the village grew it had expanded its walls a little and then had set up its militia-farmers, men and women who learned the way of the sword and bow, as well as the plough. Patrols of militia-farmers ensured that the area outside of the wall was safe enough for the people who chose to live outside the walls.

They walked along a torch lit path, though it was not quite dark, passing several of the walled farmhouses until Yelv reached his home. The gate was barred, but a boy within unbarred it so that she and Yelv might enter. Yelv put his hand on the boy's head and tussled his hair. "Asleep were you?"

"Of course not," the boy said, indignantly.

Yelv smiled and softly punched the boy in the arm. "Good to hear it."

The man and the boy had similar features. Brothers or perhaps cousins, Misara thought. Yelv took her into the big, solidly constructed, two-story house. The house looked recently built and she wondered if Woolsen family might be newcomers to the area.

"Grand Da is back here," he told her, leading her through a hallway that led to the back of the house. They passed an older woman who turned her slightly harried face towards them. "Auntie," he said to her, and did not offer her any explanation for the stranger in the house.

The room he led her into was small, though cozy might be a better word, with a few pieces of furniture, including an overstuffed armchair that was in front of the fireplace. The man who sat in that chair was very old, with thin, nearly translucent skin, busy white eyebrows and not a strand of hair on his age-spotted scalp.

He turned towards them as they entered, and his eyes were like basalt chips, dark and sharp. "Who ya bringing in here this time Yelv?" he asked in a voice cracked with age.

"Da, this is Lady Dawntide. She's a Paladin, a holy knight."

The old man made a sound that might have been a 'harrumph', but it was so soft it was more a weak cough. "Most Paladins I knew were busy bodies who thought their shit don't stink."

"Da!" Yelv said as if he had been scandalized. Misara wondered if it was because the old man had insulted a Paladin, or had sworn in front of a woman.

Misara laughed. "Most of them only act that way because they think that is what everyone wants to see."

The old man shifted his complete attention to Misara. "You brought me one of the good ones Yelv," he said. "Like I always say, curse like a sailor when you meet a Paladin. If you get a lecture, they're not worth the trouble."

"I am Misara," she said, stepping close to the old man, looking at him closely in the light of the fire. He was very old, and she suspected he would not see many more years. His body looked weak, but she suspected his mind was sharp. He sat close to the fire, a thick cloak wrapped around his shoulders. "Yelv said that you had once visited an elven castle. I am looking for a lost keep and I hope that you can help me."

"Might have visited a few such places," he said. "And you can call me Greysom, if you wish."

"Greysom." She nodded politely.

"Pull up a chair, share the warmth of the fire."

Misara was not cold, but she picked up a straight back chair and moved it beside Greysom's. She sat down.

"Yelv, go tell your harpy of a mother that I'd like some of her horrible tea."

"Yes Da." Yelv left the room.

"A good boy that. Has the best of his father and mother." He laughed softly. "And the worst of me."

"He seems quite capable."

Greysom nodded. "Now, what is it you are looking for?"

"A keep. Likely buried. In the Fields of the Dead or the Backlands."

Greysom leaned back in his chair, pulled the cloak up tighter around himself. "There was a place like that, long time ago I was there." He was silent for a few seconds. "Not one of my best stories. Don't tell it too often. Nothing much exciting about it. Always been more about the Baron than the castle.

"Baron of the Backlands they call him."

"Zelarravyan Fangshield," Misara said.

"You've heard of him?" Greysom asked, sounding a little surprised.

"I knew him, not well, but..."

Greysom smiled. "Foolish old man I am. Sitting next to an elf and thinking she can't be older than one of my granddaughters. Getting stupid I am." He said it in an easy way, self-mocking, with no real weight behind it. "I met the Barron shortly after he'd built the Backlands Castle. A grand man he was I always thought."

"I knew him before that. In Amn. Too battle hungry I always felt."

Greysom nodded. "Some said that. Don't know. I was still a lad back then, and he was quite the man in my eyes. He put us up in his castle, treated us like we was lords." He smiled. "Pretty maid that night, poured me good wine and then later took me to her bed. Lot of firsts things that night." His smiled faded. "Damn the wizard who destroyed the castle. Damn his arrogant soul."

Misara did not say anything to that. While Greysom might recall a warrior lord, Misara remembered the mercenary who had put villages to the torch and then later the Robber Baron who caused quite a bit of trouble. She did not say that. What harm was there in letting an old man have the memories he chose?

"We only stayed the one night. I remember the Baron saw us off when we left his castle. Wished us well, gave us each a fine knife as a gift. Still got mine somewhere." He looked about, as if trying to remember where the knife might be, then shrugged his shoulders. "Thallion had heard of a ruin that he wanted to look at. Thallion is an elf, like you. Probably still around, some place. He might be able to tell you why he wanted to go there. Not sure myself. That it might offer adventure and treasure was enough for the rest of us."

He closed his eyes and said nothing for a time. Yelv returned, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups on it, as well as a plate of small cookies. As he filled the cups Misara noted the quality of the tea service. She guessed that Greysom had been successful in his hunt for adventure and treasure.

Yelv put a cup on the arm of Greysom's chair. Greysom did not open his eyes, but he picked the cup up and brought it up to his mouth. His hand trembled slightly.

Yelv handed her a cup. Misara took a small sip and was pleasantly surprised at the taste: A subtle taste of mint, with a hint of honey.

"We travelled north west of Backlands Castle, until we were at a spot between the castle and Chelimber marsh. It was a hilly place, and one of the hills, taller than the others, was marked with a lightning shaped crevice that ran up from the base of the hill to the midpoint." He spoke slowly, as if he was remembering all the facts. He took another drink of his tea.

"Climbed into the crevice, followed it down, into the hill. There was a wall there, and a path where part of the hill's inside had slid away from the wall. We followed it to the gate. Old Genger, our wizard, he said the whole place was warded with powerful magic, but Thallion knew how to open the gate easy enough. Made Old Genger sour as piss, I'll tell you." He smiled and drank more of his tea.

"Inside was a disappointment. No adventure, no treasure. Just empty rooms and corridors. We spent a day exploring, but there was nothing to find or fight. Left it and went looking for something better. Thallion said he was happy to have just seen the place. Guess knowing a place of his people had survived for so long did it." He looked to Misara. "Don't take me wrong. I was glad enough that Thallion was happy. Good friend Thallion." He nodded. "And not all the adventures can be full of great deeds, you know."

"I know."

He turned back to the fire, apparently lost in his own thoughts.

Misara had what she had come for, a place to start and directions from that place. She should tell Rowan. However she did not feel like leaving. She looked at the old man, sitting in front of his fire, trying to keep warm. She did not feel sorry for him, but instead a certain sense of kinship. It had been a long time since she had met someone who had stayed in the Backlands Castle.

"I'd like to hear one full of great deeds," she said.

He seemed surprised, and turned to look towards her. She could tell he was looking for signs of pity in her face. She knew he would not find them.

He nodded. "Maybe I could recall the time that Old Genger got us all in trouble in Waterdeep. Good story that."

"I'd like to hear it. I know a few good stories as well. Maybe we can share."

"Yelv."

"Yes Da?" Yelv asked as he stood up from his seat by the fire.

"Go up to my room. Open that chest at the foot of the bed. Bring me two of the bottles of wine I keep in there."

"Yes Da."

"And the crystal glasses your aunt thinks are hers."

"Yes Da," Yelv said as he left the room.

"At the table of Zelarravyan I learned to appreciate a good bottle of wine, and a pretty maid to share it with."

Misara smiled and reached out, putting her hand over Greysom's."

"Now the thing you have to know about Old Genger was that he could be the most stupidest man you ever met when someone offered him a chance of learning some new magic."

* * *

Crooked Tree did not have a proper tavern. Years before the blacksmith had added a section onto his forge to set up a bar. In the winter the hot forge kept everyone warm. In the summer parts of the walls could be swung up to let out the heat and let cooling breezes blow through. In the early spring they apparently put up with it being too warm or too cool by drinking extra ale.

Rowan sat near the centre of the bar, Olpara perched on a stool beside her, accepting the toasts of the people about her. The refugees had told all who would listen about their loss, and of the Paladins who had saved them. Rowan noted that the story was told in such a way that pushed Misara into the background.

These people might not speak poorly of a Paladin, but they had not forgiven Misara for her actions on the trail, and they would get back at her in what ways they could. She wondered how many times such things had happened to Misara. There had been stories she had heard about Misara and Seomon where it seemed Misara had been a minor player. Perhaps she had just angered those who told the tales?

Rowan did not bother correcting them. She knew that Misara would not care, and most of the people would simply assume she was being modest, or perhaps trying to make up for some fault of Misara's.

Someone pushed a glass of mead into her hands. "Raise your glasses to the Lady Jassan lads," one of the refugees called out. "And wish we had a barrel of the good stuff we left back on the road."

Everyone lifted their glasses and then drank.

"Why'd you leave the good stuff on the road?" a young woman asked.

"Ah," the man who had spoke said, looking uncomfortable. His face was flushed and it looked as if he had had too much to drink. "Well, we had to leave it behind to make better speed."

"The elf cut it from the wagon. Threatened to leave us behind if we didn't keep up." An older man said, one who had definitely had too much to drink. One of his companions tried to quiet him but did not have any luck. "What right did she have? No right that's what. No right at all."

"I'm certain there was a good reason," one of the men of Crooked Tree said. "She does not seem like an unkind person."

"Damnable elf!" the drunk shouted. "Has no idea about common people, that we could have used that stuff she made us leave behind. Must think we can all live in the forest, drink dew from flowers and stuff." He slammed his mug down onto the scarred tabletop. "Damn elf!"

The blacksmith, an imposing man for even someone of his trade, put a large hand on the drunk's shoulder. "You've had too much old man."

"Don't try to tell me I've had to much," the drunk said, and tried to break free of the blacksmith's hand. "Them elves is nothing but trouble. You're all fools if ya think that whore is..."

"Tunkus!" his companion called out as he put his hand over Tunkus' mouth. "Shut up!"

The smith easily lifted the man. "You can go somewhere else to sleep it off. You're not welcome here." He carried him to the door. Tunkus fought, and cursed everyone in the room in general, Misara in particular, before he was tossed bodily out. The man with him rushed out, though whether to help him or keep him quiet Rowan did not know.

"Sorry about that," the smith said to everyone as he closed the door.

"Tunkus don't know what he's saying when he gets the drink in him," said the man who had given her the mead. "You got to forgive him."

"For being a drunk or a man who hates elves, and likely anyone who is not human?" Olpara asked.

The speaker looked away, not answering.

"I hope Tunkus will be alright," Rowan said. "Too much drink is never good. In fact, perhaps I have had too much myself." She stood. "Good evening good people. May Sune bless you with a peaceful sleep." She turned and started towards the door. Olpara jumped down from her stool and followed after.

"I hate people like that," Olpara said a short time later, after they had left the bar behind.

Rowan stopped near one of the village wells and looked about. It was dark, but lanterns hung from poles provided enough light to see by. Most of the houses were dark, the people inside asleep. They had to wake with the sun. She thought that some of the people she had left behind in the bar would regret the evening's revels.

"Some say you should not hate people like that," Rowan told her.

Olpara climbed the low fence around the well and sat on the top rail, so she was closer to eye level with Rowan. "Do you think that?"

"I think it is a good idea that is very hard to put into practice. Misara avenged their dead, saved their lives, and made certain that they got here safely."

"So did you."

"No one was cursing me."

"Only the idiot was cursing her, and that was because he hates elves I bet."

"You could see some of the others agreed with him, to a lesser extent."

"All because they had to leave behind some alcohol and luxury items that would do them little good if they were still out on the road. Idiots."

"That's not charitable."

Olpara made a rude noise. "They are idiots. If they were smart they would be arranging to leave with the sunrise, take some of the village guards with them, and pick up everything they had to drop. Bet you most of it will still be there come morning. These trails are not being heavily travelled yet. Instead they are drinking and feeling that they were mistreated. Idiots."

Rowan could not really refute that, but she did not want to agree, so she said nothing.

"Bet you Misara will want to leave early tomorrow." Olpara jumped down from the fence. "Better get some sleep."

"That sounds like a good idea."

* * *

Before Kesk had had his band bypass the villages and towns they had found along the way. It was easier that way and avoided possible complications. The village he had come upon had been different; something about it had caught his attention.

He stood at the base of the hill it was on. Already some scouts had climbed the wall to find the village deserted, as well as signs of combat. Fresh graves dotted a hill not far from where he stood. Something had certainly happened there.

One of his orcs approached him. A wiry brute with yellowed teeth and a heavily scarred face. He was called Jecksra and was the best tracker that Kesk had.

"Ox drawn wagons left, less'an a day. All heavily loaded, people walking long side, mules too, loaded down. Three horses among 'em. The ones we've been following."

Kesk jerked his head to the side so he could look Jecksra in the eyes. "What did you say?"

"The three we've been following, they headed back with the wagons and the walkers."

Kesk felt for a moment as if something was caught in his throat, so angry was he that it was like he could not breathe. "Olgar!" he finally bellowed.

"Sir?" the sergeant asked, running over to where Kesk stood.

"This morning. The caravan. What did you see?" Kesk felt his entire body tremble as he held his anger in check.

"The sentries said..."

"What did you see?" Kesk screamed, spit flying from his mouth and onto the sergeant's face.

"I didn't look," he admitted.

"Hoping that you could raid it?" Kesk screamed. "Wanted to get to me as soon as possible? Couldn't be bothered to even look?" Kesk backhanded the orc, sending him stumbling back. "That cursed elf was with them, and we let them go right by us!"

Other orcs looked on. Olgar was rubbing the side of his face, fear and anger, in equal measure, in his eyes. "I will have the sentries..."

"The sentries share in your stupidity!" Kesk stepped forward and punched the larger orc. "I will not have your greed interfering with my revenge! With the will of Gruumsh." He hit the orc again, knocking him to the ground.

Kesk turned about. "Mount up," he shouted. "We ride."

As the orcs about him quickly scrambled to do as he said Kesk walked to his horse and pulled a long, leather whip from his saddle. Holding the coiled whip in his hand he walked to where Olgar was getting onto his hands and knees. The big sergeant looked up at him, at the whip he held in his hands.

It was obvious that Olgar was afraid.

Kesk dropped the whip in front of Olgar. "The sentries, when there is time" he said, and then turned away from Olgar, fully expecting that the sergeant would make his displeasure known.

Sheepa stood near his horse as he approached.

"What?" he asked her.

"The elf, she may come back this way."

Kesk nodded. "She might."

Sheepa looked back at the walled village. "Could make a good stronghold."

Again Kesk nodded. He had been thinking the same thing. The village could make a good hold, a place to raid from, to gather forces. He pictured the forces he could bring under Gruumsh's banner, and his own. Slaves to work the fields, a growing army, slowly spreading out, putting the nearby villages under his control.

It was a good vision. It was a proper one as well. This land should be taken from the humans and given to the children of Gruumsh. And it would. After Misara was dead.

"She may come back, and she may not. We follow."

Sheepa simply nodded. She had expressed her opinion, but would follow Kesk's orders. Smart and loyal, she might become his most valued follower, in time. He grabbed his horse and pulled himself up onto the saddle. "Mount up," he bellowed, though most of the other orcs were already in their saddles.

* * *

Rowan woke early, before the sun rose. She climbed from her warm bed and crossed the cold wooden floor to kneel by the hearth. The fire had burnt down to ashes. She used an iron poker to stir them up, until the glowing embers were revealed. From a pail by the fire she removed a few pieces of split wood and tossed them onto the embers. A moment later the wood caught fire.

She stood up and searched out the chamber pot so as to relieve herself. Afterwards she poured fresh, cold water from a decanter into the washbasin. Rowan had cleaned up the night before, so she simply poured some scented oil into the water and washed her hands and face, as well as using a damp cloth which she used to further clean herself.

She dressed quickly, quietly and then left the room without waking Olpara who still slept. The woman of the home was already up, as were a few others, getting breakfast ready and taking care of other early morning chores. Rowan, not yet hungry, simply left the house.

There was a quiet spot, near the centre of the village, where Rowan knelt down so she might pray.

Several minutes later she stood, feeling good, as she always did after praying. She stood up on her toes and stretched, her armour shifting comfortably on her body. It would be time to head out soon, but before that Rowan would have something to eat.

She was nearing the house where she was staying when she saw Misara striding in her directions. The elf saw Rowan and smiled.

"You are looking pleased," Rowan said. "Good news?"

"Very, I think," Misara said. As she got close Rowan could smell the hint of strong alcohol about the elf and wondered what she had been doing that night.

"You know where we should go?" Rowan asked, guessing that such a thing would make Misara happy.

"Yes. Exactly. We ride for Serpent's Cowl by the most direct route," she told Rowan, dropping her voice slightly. "From there we will travel upriver, into the Backlands, to Yarthrain. Northwest of Yarthrain, perhaps a day's travel, we will find a hill, marked with a lightning shaped crevice. Can you read elven?"

The question, following the directions, surprised Rowan for a moment. "A little," she finally answered.

"Good. There will be wards of sort on the entrance to the keep, but hopefully there will be some clue how to pass through."

Rowan nodded. Now that Misara had shared the knowledge of their next step on the journey both could continue on, even if one were to fall. "Do you wish to leave immediately?"

"Soon. If Olpara is to accompany us we will need a second horse. Iron and Rose Thorn will keep up with the pace we must set, but Berry will not, even as light as Olpara is."

"We'll have to wait until the sun is truly up before buying a horse."

Misara nodded. "Time well spent as we'll easily make it up by maintaining a fast pace."

"Very well. It should give us both time to enjoy a good breakfast as well." Rowan smiled.


	20. A Prayer to Darkness

**Chapter 20 - A Prayer to Darkness  
**by Shawn Hagen

Kesk had pushed his orcs through the night, walking most of the time. Horses were fine in the daylight, but riding them at any speed in the night was trouble. When the sun had risen he ordered the orcs onto their horses again, declaring that they would endure the sun until they found the elf. There were of course grumbles, but they all did as he said.

It was still early morning, with the sun still low in the eastern sky, when he came in sight of the village of Crooked Tree. Now he had to decide what to do. He knew that the village maintained some patrols, and a small fighting force. He would rather not fight them, though he thought it likely he would win. He could circle around, as he had last time, and pick up the trail on the far side, look for evidence that the elf and her companions had passed. But what if she was still within the walls of the village?

"Agars," he called out.

"Sir," the old, scarred orc said, and rode his horse close to Kesk.

"Take Sheepa and half the orcs, circle to the other side of the village. Wait and see if the elf comes out that way. Make sure no one sees you and if I send a signal be prepared to ride in."

"Yes sir," Agars said.

"Colgam, you and Olgar stay here. Find a place to hide and watch for the elf or my signal."

"What will you be doing?" Colgam asked.

Kesk nodded towards the village. "I'm going in to see if the elf is in there." He put his heels to his tired mount and started towards Crooked Tree. There was a lot that could go wrong with his plan, but at worst, as Kesk saw it, he would just be further behind Misara. So far she had been travelling in a fairly straight manner, following the roads and trails, making it easy to stay behind her. Not that he just wanted to remain behind her. Perhaps now he had finally caught her up.

As he approached the town he saw some people standing atop the wall, looking about. Probably making certain it was safe to open the gate. They saw him of course, but a lone rider was probably not seen as too great a threat.

The gates opened, people exited the village, farmers directing their ox drawn carts towards the fields.

"Well met," some said as he passed, and he nodded politely in response to their greetings. A few looked at him askance, but no one seemed too concerned about his presence.

"Morning," one of the gate sentries said, stepping out to block Kesk's path.

Kesk swung down from his horse. "Well met," he said. "I've been riding all night and I need something to eat and a little rest."

"All night? Seems a little odd."

"The village I planned to stop at was deserted. I was not about to stay there."

The sentry nodded, as if he had expected an answer like that. "Heard a little bit about that myself. Well, you're welcome in Crooked Tree. Ask around, you can probably find a house that has a room available, if that is what you want, or a spot at its table."

"Thank you," Kesk told him.

The sentry moved aside so Kesk could enter.

He considered asking about the elf, but decided not to. He did not want to give anything away until he was certain about the situation. He simply nodded to the sentry and walked into the village.

He looked about, hoping to see some sign of his quarry. The village was crowded, with people going about their regular routine. The refugees from the deserted village added to the confusion, mixing together, getting in one another's way. Crooked Tree would not stand up well to an attack at this moment, Kesk thought. Would that he had the time to attack with his orcs.

He smiled as he considered the implications of finding the elf in this village. He could kill her and then bring his orcs in. They could take Crooked Tree and then go back to the other village, the beginnings of a kingdom. Of course he knew it was, at the moment, likely a dream, but that did not keep him from hoping.

He had crossed nearly half the space enclosed within the village's walls when he heard someone say, "That damn elf, cost me a good chunk of gold, I tell ya."

Kesk stopped and turned towards the voice.

"Tunkus," another said, "just leave it. It's not going to win you and friends."

The half orc tied his horse to a hitching post and then began moving towards the voices.

"Twelve hand kegs of Berduskan Dark," the one called Tunkus grumbled, "the five hand kegs of Evermeed, and all the rest, it was a fortune, and she just made us dump it on the road."

"We needed to go faster," the one who had counselled Tunkus said, "and she was right. All that stuff was slowing us down. I didn't like it much myself, but she was right."

Kesk suddenly understood the goods his forward riders had found scattered on the road. At the time he had refused to let the orcs approach, certain it was a trap of some sort. If only had had know the truth.

He was close enough to see the speakers. One was older, wearing rumpled clothing; he looked as if he had slept in a barn as there was straw stuck in his hair. The other was a little younger than his companion, a little cleaner.

"I should just go up to her and demand she give me the gold I lost," the older one, Tunkus, said. "We should all go up and demand that that elf pay us."

The elf was still here? Kesk smiled slightly. Perhaps his pleasing imaginings were not so unlikely.

"She saved our lives," the other said.

Kesk stepped away from the wall he was using as cover and walked towards the two men, but he focused his attention on the one called Tunkus. "Excuse me, I overheard some of what you said. It sounds as if you need someone to help you get money owed." He tried to look friendly, but did not show his teeth when he smiled.

"There isn't a problem," the younger said.

"Maybe I do," Tunkus said at the same time.

"She's a Paladin," the companion said, sounding shocked.

"Not of any god I care to respect," Tunkus countered.

The younger man looked scandalized.

"You think you could convince this elf to pay me what she owes?" Tunkus asked, turning his attention completely to Kesk.

"I have done such jobs in the past," Kesk said, nodding.

"Well, I know she's around here somewhere."

"Tunkus," the companion said in a warning tone.

"Might be able to get some like thinking people to go with us," Tunkus said, ignoring his friend. "Strength in number and all that."

"That sounds wise," Kesk said, needing to goad the man into action.

"The Paladins are leaving," a boy called out as he ran by them.

"Damn," Tunkus said. "Running away already I tell you."

Kesk ignored the man. He turned and ran to his horse.

"You think you can get her fore she leaves?" Tunkus cried out after him.

Kesk certainly planned to try.

He untied his horse and led it at a run through the village, towards the gate he had recently entered.

He reached it only to see a crowd of people, blocking the gate, waving farewell to four, fast moving horses. For a moment Kesk thought to leap onto his horse and charge after, but quickly realised the futility of that. His horse, tired after a long ride, would never be able to catch up.

Instead he pushed through the crowd in front of the gate, instead of riding them down, and only then got up on his horse. He kicked it into a quick walk, the best pace it could maintain. Ahead of him he could see the riders dwindling as they got farther from him. He reached under his coat and produced a wand.

A simple, signalling device, he spoke the command word that caused the wands his sergeants carried to grow warm. He might have sent a more complex message, a series where the wands would grow warm and cold in a pattern, but that was not needed.

All he could hope was that Olgar and Colgam would move to block the elf. All they had to do was slow her down until he caught up. That was all. He kicked his horse harder and the beast let out a tired snort, but it increased its pace. If he thought the animal was capable of it he would have ridden it to death if that meant catching up with the elf.

* * *

Misara felt good to be out, to be moving fast, for the first time with a clear destination instead of a vague idea. She could tell that Rowan felt the same, and even Olpara seemed to lose some of her darkness in the exhilarating ride. The horses were running, a ground eating pace that had the wind blowing in their faces.

Iron and Rose Thorn could keep that speed up for a long time. Olpara's mount, with the lightweight of the halfling, was keeping up easily enough. It would tire, in time, but that was why they had a spare mount for Olpara.

It was a little over two hundred miles to Serpent's Cowl, the small village near the Forest of Wyrms. She wanted to cover that distance in three days. It would be a hard ride, near impossible, but she was certain they could do it. Ugly as Iron was, she had seen few other horses that had his endurance or tenacity. Rose Thorn was a magical beast and would easily be up to it. She suspected they would have to get Olpara new mounts a few times over the ride, but she felt confident they would pass villages where such things could be arranged.

It was like she was in a race. Like the wonderful outings she and her friends had undertaken in Evermeet, more than a century before. They had ridden their fey horses across the island, through trackless forests, for nothing more than bragging rights. She was lost in the feeling, happy at that memory.

It was why Rowan had to call her attention to a group of riders that were attempting to intercept them.

Misara looked in the direction that Rowan was pointing. "Orcs," she called out a moment later. "They won't catch us." She could tell the horses that the orcs rode were of poor quality, or overly tired. The orcs were trying to press more speed from them, but already she could see the beasts lagging.

"They chase us," Rowan called over the sound of the wind.

"Yes," Misara agreed.

"Should be give them what they want?" Rowan was smiling.

Misara wanted nothing more than to turn Iron about and charge the orcs. It would be good to cross blades with the beasts, to cut them down, perhaps find out why they were following. "No," she called to Rowan. A fight could delay them; a horse might get badly wounded. "We'll stop when we crest that hill."

Rowan nodded. Perhaps she was a little disappointed, but she did not argue the point.

Then ahead Misara spotted a second band of orcs, riding hard, trying to make the road, to trap them so those following might catch up. She smiled as she loosened her sword in her scabbard. "We might have a fight yet."

Rowan nodded, and shifted to the side, putting Olpara and the riderless horse between her and Misara. Ahead of them three orcs, likely on better quality horses, had managed to coax their mounts to a boost of speed and had pulled away from their fellows. They might just catch us, Misara thought as she drew her blade.

The sound of steel sliding from a scabbard caused Iron to lay his ears flat back against his head, and bare his teeth. He was just as ready for a fight as she was.

But even as they rode she could see two of the orcs start to lag, their horses likely exhausted. Only one rider remained, a large orc who was bent low over his horse, using a coiled whip to lash at its flanks. He was probably going to kill the poor thing, Misara thought.

They passed close enough that the big orc attempted to use the whip. Perhaps he hoped to pull one of them from their saddles, or slow a horse by wounding it. Or he might have been very desperate. Misara met the tip of his whip with her sword, cutting part of it away as she slapped it over her head.

And then they were away, the orc falling behind, fumbling at his saddle for a crossbow. Misara spun on Iron's back, ready to cut any bolts that might fly from behind, but the orc was slow, and soon they were out of range.

They rode until they had reached the crest of the hill. There they brought their horses to a stop. Iron and Rose Thorn looked as if they were ready to run or fight, and they were lively, not pleased to be waiting.

Misara strung her bow and then looked through the quiver of arrows. She selected one from its fletching and pulled it out. She stood on the crest, looking down at their pursuers.

The first group they had seen was moving along the road, trying to catch up to the second group. That one, now in a more coherent grouping, was pushing hard. Misara waited as they closed, looking at the riders, picking out the big orc that she had chosen as the likely leader.

"Do you think that Crooked Tree is in any danger?" Rowan asked.

Misara did not look at her, but shook her head. "They are after us, and Crooked Tree can stand up to a small group of orc raiders."

"Do you think they came from the North?" Olpara asked.

"I don't know," Misara admitted. "I can't see them having followed us all the way from Silverymoon. I would like to question one."

"We can't afford to take the chance that we might be slowed," Rowan said, echoing Misara's early thought.

Misara said nothing, for there was no need to debate an agreed point. She watched the orcs approach, the first group closing on the second, which was slowing. They were still following. She wondered if they saw her, standing on the road. The sun was to her back, and orcs did not see well in daylight. They did not seem to be riding as to make an arrow shot more difficult. Perhaps they did see her and did not think they were in range.

She drew back the string, her thumb brushing gently against her ear. She picked out the big orc, lifted the bow so the arrow was at and extreme angle to the ground, and then released the string.

The arrow hummed as it sped away from the bow, cutting up into the air, raising high, and then angling down and plummeting towards its target. Beside her Rowan gasped. The arrow hit the orc, the steel arrowhead likely punching through its armour and piercing deep into its chest.

A moment later the spell locked into the arrowhead triggered and arcs of lightning flashed out to blast the orcs all around the one who had been hit.

Misara unstrung her bow and leapt upon Iron's back. "Let's go," she said with a smile and then she laughed. "We will race the wind."

* * *

Kesk looked at the burnt and battered bodies that lay on the road. Colgam was doing his best to treat the wounded, using the few simple healing spells he had learned since becoming a priest of Gruumsh. Not that there were that many to heal. There was no sign of Olgar's body, and most of the orcs that had been with him were dead as well. The orcs who stood around, the few that had survived the blast as well as those that had ridden with Colgam, looked dejected, broken.

He ground his teeth together in anger, wishing he had the elf in his hands, that he could smash her face in with his fists until it was a bloody mess. She had not even bothered to stay and fight. He wanted to think it was cowardice, and he would tell his orcs that was what it was, but he knew the truth was that she just had not cared to fight. There was something more important to her than fighting with orcs.

He moved close, looking at the orcs, making eye contact. Most turned away, and the few that met his gaze did so in an accusatory manner. They blamed him for their current situation. He suspected that most of them were wishing to be back at the encampment with Timmin. He was going to have to convince them otherwise, to give them back their desire to fight.

The problem was that he did not know how to do that. Not at that moment.

He turned his attention to Colgam. The small, one-eyed orc was doing his best to heal a badly injured orc. Kesk walked up and knelt down beside Colgam. He reached forward to place his hand on the wounded orc's chest. "Gruumsh, give me the power that I may heal this one," he called out in orcish. "Let him be healed so that he might lay low our enemies and bring further glory to you."

The electrical burns on the orc healed, leaving behind scars as they did so. A moment later the orc opened his eyes and sat up.

Kesk stood. "Colgam, get them to a defensible shelter. Make sure they rest up. Watch for Sheepa and Agars and give them the same orders."

Colgam nodded as he stood. "How long?"

"Until I come back."

"Shouldn't we go after the elf?"

"We will," Kesk told him. "Don't think that she has won," he said louder, raising his voice so all the orcs might here him. "She chooses cowardly tactics, and runs, but we will take away her tricks and show her our might," he said the last in a shout.

His speech seemed to rouse his orcs, at least a little. A few nodded, some punched their fists into the air and said his name, or called for the death of their enemies. It was not much, but it was a start.

He nodded, and then turned and started up the trail, leaving his exhausted horse for Colgam to deal with. For a time he simply walked, until he was at the crest of the hill. He had not seen what had happened, but he could guess the elf had stopped there to fire on the pursuing orcs. He realised he should have warned his orcs of the danger, but telling them how deadly the elf was with a bow had not seemed a way to fire their orcish spirits and encourage them.

They were orcs, if anyone should have known the danger elven archery presented it should have been them, he thought angrily. Perhaps they had been too long working as mercenaries. Or maybe, he thought as he turned and looked down the hill, they had not realised they were in any danger.

A mighty shot. It was not the first time the elf's bow had cost him. He still could hear the cries of pain as arrows sped out of the night, finding his soldiers, both orc and man alike. He still did now know if she had been alone that night, in the canopy of the Wood of Sharp Teeth, but she had been the only one he had seen.

When she had finally shown herself, stepping out of the shadows as dawn's light filtered through the thick canopy, he had already had two arrows in him. None of those who had survived were uninjured. All were exhausted from a sleepless night. They had never stood a chance.

That was what angered him most of all. That he had not been given a chance to face her, to test his skill against hers. He was certain, given the opportunity, she would be the one found wanting.

He took the leather and steel gauntlets from his hands and tossed them to ground. With the blackened head of his spear he cut open the palm of his left hand. Placing his cut hand over his forehead left a bloody mark there. He drew a streak of red down his face, his neck, and across the travel stained tabard her wore over his plate mail. The cut stung with the dried salt of his sweat.

Kneeling down he placed his spear to the side and then reached under his tabard, drawing forth a bone scroll-case. He opened it, staining it with his blood as he did so. He shook the scrolls within out. He looked through them, carefully using his right hand so as not to get his blood on them. He took one from the pile, and then returned the rest of the case.

Kesk spread the scroll out in front of him. He began to chant in orcish, a discordant, harsh sound that made it sound as if he were croaking the words out. He dipped the pointer finger of his right hand into the wound in his left palm. Using the finger like a brush, her began to carefully draw glyphs onto the scroll, obscuring the words as he chanted them.

When he finished reading the entire scroll he began to read it again, taking from memory those words obscured by blood. More glyphs appeared on the scroll, obscuring more and more of what was written on it. He kept the wound in his hand bleeding as he wrote. It pained him, but he did not stop.

Gruumsh was not a god who cared to make the lives of his worshippers easier. He had no room for the weak, those who could not fight. He did not provide his aid easily, nor without proof that the petitioner was strong enough to earn it. Kesk knew this, and accepted it, and his voice did not falter as he chanted the words through a third time, a fourth time, a fifth time, completely from memory for the scroll was covered in his blood.

And when he finally received his answer he stood up, thrusting both hands into the air, and called out to the glory of Gruumsh. And, when the sense of the divine finally left him he settled back to the trail, sitting on the dirt, and smiled. He tore the edge his tabard off and used it to bind the wound on his hand. Then he took off his left boot and from a hidden pocket within removed a flat, red stone, the size of his smallest finger.

The stone had been given to him by the man who had freed him from prison. It was a way to communicate, but the note that had been wrapped around the stone had made it clear that Kesk was not to use it unless absolutely necessary.

He felt it was necessary.

He held it in his right hand, concentrating, as the note had instructed. The stone grew warm, and he felt a slight tingle begin to spread out to his fingers and then up his arm.

_'What is it Kesk Hornskull?'_ a voice in his mind asked.

"I need your help if you wish to see the elf dead," he said aloud.

_'I am listening.'_

"I need to bring my men from where I am now to a village called the Serpent's Cowl. It is several days journey from here."

For a time there was silence and Kesk began to wonder if his benefactor and employer might not answer, then, _'I can do this for you.'_

"This is more."

_'What?'_ The voice seemed curious, and tired.

"Fresh horses and an illusion so my orcs will appear human."

_'I see. Will there be anything else Kesk Hornskull?'_

Kesk thought about it, and then smiled. "A feast. Barrels of ale, and meat. My orcs will spend this day and night resting and then will fight better for it. New weapons as well, quality swords and armour." Kesk did not know if he would get these things, but he would ask.

_'I will see what might be done,' the voice in his head told him. 'When do you want this feast?'_

"Soon," Kesk said. "I will call you when I want it to arrive."

_'Very well Kesk Hornskull, but be certain that my time is being well spent. The elf must die, and soon.'_

"You will have what you want," Kesk said aloud.

The stone in his hand grew cool, and Kesk knew that the other was gone. He returned the stone to its hiding place and then put his boot back on. Standing, he picked up his spear. He would lay the thanks for the feast at Gruumsh feet. There was no reason for his orcs to think that the food was anything but a blessing of their god. He knew that Gruumsh would approve.


	21. Battle in the Ravines

**Chapter 21 - Battle in the Ravines**  
by Shawn Hagen 

It was a little after the sun had reached its highest point in the sky when Misara and the others rode into sight of Serpent's Cowl. It had been a hard ride with little chance for rest. Iron had, as always, stood up well to the demands she had made on him. He could probably still keep him riding for a few more days, not that Misara planned on having him do so.

The next part of the journey would be by skiff along the river. That would give all the horses, as well as their riders, a chance to rest up. Rose Thorn, not surprisingly, would not need that rest, but Olpara's horse certainly would. The halfling now rode with three horses. She had refused to leave Berry behind when he grew too exhausted to carry her, so they had purchased two new horses for her at one of the villages. They had replaced Olpara's mounts several times during the journey.

Serpent's Cowl was a small village, on the bank of the Winding Water, not too distant from the Forest of Wyrms. There were fields, recently cleared and ploughed around the village, but no buildings beyond the tightly clustered ones of the village.

On first glance it looked rather pleasant, but as Misara closed she could see that something was not right. She looked over at Rowan and saw that Rowan was concerned as well. Without saying anything they slowed their mounts, Olpara followed suite, and rode towards the village at a more moderate pace.

They were near the edge of the village when they saw a group of armed villagers jogging towards them. The men and women were led by a tall man with a limp.

"Halt," the tall man called out loudly before they could ride into the village. The people behind him were bringing up crossbows.

Misara brought Iron to a halt. Rowan and Olpara stopped their mounts as well.

The man with the limp came towards them, but stopped several paces away. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"Misara Dawntide," Misara said, "Paladin of Corellon Larethian. With me are Rowan Jassan, Paladin of Sune, and Olpara Sweetharp. We have some here seeking passage to the village of Yarthrain."

The man seemed to relax slightly, but he did not let his guard down completely; nor did those villagers behind them. "Well met then Misara Dawntide, Rowan Jassan and Olpara Sweetharp. You must forgive our greeting, but we have very recently been attacked by raiders." He was looking at the three of them closely, sizing us up, Misara thought.

"Raiders?" Rowan asked. "Were any hurt?"

"There were some minor injuries, but that is not of any concern. The raiders have taken away many or our children and younger people. They swept through our fields a few hours prior. They snatched up those who worked in the field and then rode off."

"Which way did they ride?"

The man was still looking at them, and Misara could almost guess his thoughts. She supposed that Rowan and Rose Thorn were presenting the most positive and trustworthy image that the moment.

"They rode to the west, following the river upstream," he said in the tone of a man who had made a decision. "We have sent some warriors after them, but they are outnumbered." With such a statement Misara expected a request to follow.

"We will go to lend aid," Rowan said, interrupting him before he could speak. "Perhaps we may be of some help."

"Thank you very much Lady Paladin," he said, dipping his head low. "I am Calroth, the headman of this village. When you meet up with the warriors, let them know that I have asked for your aid."

Rowan nodded and then turned to look at Misara. She was not looking to her for conformation, because Rowan would have no doubts about her intentions, but to see if she had anything else to add.

"Who leads your warriors?" Misara asked.

"Thayla Redlocks," he told her. "She will no doubt be glad for any help you might provide. We also sent a messenger to Heartwing, to see if Aluena Halacanter may help us."

Misara nodded, she had heard of the sorceress and the pegasi she reared. She looked over at Olpara's horses. "Do you have a spare mount that Olpara might borrow?"

Calroth nodded.

* * *

Several of the children were crying, some of the older ones trying to hush them. Kesk looked over at his captives and bared his teeth. "Keep the brats quiet or I'll quiet all of you," he growled.

He watched with some amusement as the older ones did their best to keep the younger ones calm, sometimes with methods that were cruel. He might have to stop them if it looked like they would go as far as to kill the younger ones to keep them silent.

It was not that he cared about the children, far from it, but he did not want them dead, at least not immediately. It was not impossible that someone might realise if the children were killed. People might not come chasing after dead children. He was not certain if the elf would. She might put vengeance off to another time if there was no one to save.

Once the elf was dead he would decide what to do with the children. Ransom them back to their parents, or sell them to slavers, he thought.

The children were roped together and secured in the back of the cave. Kesk stood at the mouth of the cave, looking over the lightly wooded hills on the edge of the Forest of Wyrms. The hills and ravines were claimed by a tribe of goblins, almost one hundred strong. They had proved useful and were easily convinced to help Kesk.

His benefactor had given Kesk everything he needed, and more. The feast that first night had been good for morale. The magical portal that had allowed them to instantly travel to a place near Serpent's Cowl had made the orcs truly believe that the power of Gruumsh was with them.

Fresh horses and equipment had awaited them on the other side of the portal, as well as information about the goblin tribe and the gold required to buy their services.

Kesk felt certain that he would trap the elf, and that he would see her dead. More than just see her dead, he would take her life, in view of his orcs. He would destroy her completely in the sight of his god.

The wand he wore beneath his breastplate grew warm, cold and warm again. The pattern repeated twice more. Agars had spotted the elf. She was near. He stepped out of the cave, smiling.

* * *

"It's a trap," Rowan said.

Misara nodded, looking at the trail they had been following. It had led along the river for a time, and then turned into a hilly region on the edge of the forest. The ravines within would create a twisting maze: An easy place to set up an ambush.

"What should we do?" Olpara asked.

Rowan reached down and patted Rose Thorn on the neck. "Go in, of course. Trap or not, the children were taken that way."

Misara put her bow away and drew her sword. Guiding Iron with a gentle squeeze of her knees she started him forward. Rowan came up behind her, followed closely by Olpara. The three women looked about as they rode, all of them alert for any sign of danger.

The walls of the ravine rose up around them, above them the sky was partially blocked from view by intertwined branches. They had a few hours of light left, Misara noted. Coming darkness would not be a hindrance to her, but she would prefer to have things dealt with while it was still day.

Rowan stopped. "Look at this," she said softly.

Misara looked back over her shoulder and then turned Iron about and rode to Rowan's side. Rowan was leaning over in her saddle, using her sword tip to push a small thicket aside. Near the edge of the growth was a small, bare footprint.

"Goblin?"

Rowan nodded. "We're probably in their territory. The riders from Serpent's Cowl must have known."

"They did not have much choice."

"No."

Misara said nothing else, just directed Iron back to following the trail.

There was, now that she looked for it, some sign of the goblins that must live there. She watched for traps as she rode, deadfalls and pits, the simple things that goblins were likely to build.

They had moved deep into the ravines, still following the trail, when they came around the corner to find themselves facing five other riders. The other riders turned at the sound of their passage, hands went to weapons.

"We offer no threat," Misara said quickly, taking note of the woman with short, red hair. "Are you Thayla Redlocks?"

The woman looked at them and then nodded. "I am. Who are you?"

"Misara Dawntide, Paladin of Corellon Larethian. Calroth asked us to come and aid you."

"I am Rowan Jassan, Paladin of Sune."

"Olpara Sweetharp. Why do you wait here?"

Thayla looked at them each in turn, was silent for a few seconds, and then said, "Well met then. I am glad for you aid. As to why we wait here, we have," she paused, and pursed her lips, "have lost the trail."

Misara heard those words as if they were a call to battle. Her eyes darted above her, to the top of the ravine, and the area around them. She could see Rowan was also more alert.

"What is it?" Thayla demanded, now looking about herself.

Before any explanations could be offered large balls of mud began to roll down the side of the ravine, forcing the riders to scatter, driving their mounts to avoid the rolling projectiles. One of Thayla's riders was not fast enough and a mud ball bounced and hit him, knocking him out of his saddle.

Misara spun Iron about, letting him dodge the mud as he would as she searched for signs of their attackers. Then there were a series of loud cracks, and a number of the trees above them fell into the ravine. None of them caught any of the riders, nor the man who was now on his feet, but they had effectively cut the small groups off from one another.

They scatter us with the mud balls and they make sure we cannot join to form an effective defence, Misara thought. And they had been waiting for her and Rowan to arrive before springing their trap.

Next were the crossbow bolts. Most of the bolts buried themselves into the ground, or the fallen trees, which were providing Misara and the others with some cover. One bolt bounced off of Rowan's armour. Another scored a glancing hit across the hindquarters of Thayla's horse, causing the beast to buck in pain and forcing its rider to divert all her attention to staying mounted.

People were scattering, looking for cover, for a place to regroup.

Then the crossbows ceased firing. A moment later goblins and orcs came over the sides of the ravines, charging towards their confused foes.

Several orcs were sprinting towards Misara, their weapons raised. The one in the lead swung at her with a great sword. Misara rolled off Iron to avoid the blow and then darted beneath and between the horse's legs, sword leading, to cut down the attacker.

As he fell two others leapt over his body to press Misara. She blocked their attacks, knocking their swords wide, and then slid into the opening, the tip of her sword sliding into the armhole of one orc's armour.

The other orc swung his sword over his head and was about to bring it down on her, but Iron spun about and kicked out, both his rear hooves slamming into the orc's chest, sending him flying back.

For a moment Misara had free space about her and the time to look about.

Thayla and two of her men rode upon their horses, using the height advantage to slash down at goblins with their sabres. Rowan rode easily upon Rose Thorn, cutting her way through goblins, orcs, and tree branches in an attempt to get closer to one of Thayla's men who was fighting alone and un-mounted. She spotted Olpara, and the man who had been first knocked from his saddle. Both were upon the halfling's horse, trying to ride clear.

She had no more time to check on the others for three more orcs, and perhaps fifteen goblins, were moving on her.

Misara leapt away from Iron, running straight at the approaching attackers. She would not give them time to surround her. She hit the leading orc, two sweeps of her sword batting his sword up and wide, and a third slash to open his throat. Ducking low, both hands on the hilt, she drove the point of the sword into face of the next orc, punching through his defence and his skull.

Iron moved in beside her, head darting down to bite one of the goblins and tear a chunk out of the small creature's shoulder. He then reared up; his steel shod front hooves kicking the air in front of him, hitting the last orc in the shoulder with bone breaking force. Misara finished the orc off with a quick slice that opened it up from wounded shoulder to hip.

The goblins seemed to lose their stomach for the fight and broke. Misara managed to cut down two before they could flee, and Iron's quick hooves accounted for another two.

She looked about and could hear sounds of movement above them. "Have fun and make yourself useful," she told Iron, and then leapt up so she landed, standing, on his back. Another leap took her out of the ravine.

* * *

Rowan balanced herself upon Rose Thorn's back, moving with the horse, slashing at the goblins and orcs that tried to pull her down. Her sword traced out a figure eight as she cut to either side of the horse. Rose Thorn kicked, bit, and stomped, killing as many enemies as she.

She fought her way towards the edge of the ravine, leaving a trail of dead and wounded in her wake. The wall would provide her a place to put her back and it would make defence that much easier. The remaining goblins, assuming that was her intent, had tried to stop her. As soon as she reached the wall the goblins pulled back to regroup, to find a new way to deal with her.

It was what Rowan had been hoping for. As soon as the goblins gave her room she touched Rose Thorn's sides with her heels. The horse leapt forward, landing amidst the goblins. Rowan's sword rose and fell, cutting down the closest of the goblins for the moment that she was among them. Then Rose Thorn had moved away from them, rapidly gaining speed.

Just before they would have charged into the tangled branches of a fallen tree, Rose Thorn leapt. Legs tucked close to his body, he sailed, very nearly straight up, over the branches, and then came down, on the other side, his front hooves crushing a goblin as he landed.

The goblins stared at Rowan and the horse in shock. The man she had come to save also stared at her in surprise, his sword lowering as he gaped at her, leaving himself open.

"To me," Rowan yelled, and sent Rose Thorn spinning to his right as she slashed to her left. Hooves and sword blurred and the goblins had no idea which was which. One might manage to avoid the sword only to be cut by an iron-shod hoof, or dodge a hoof only to be hit by the sword.

The man moved forward, not getting too close to the horse, and attacked the goblins from a new direction. Together he, Rowan and Rose Thorn were able to drive the goblins back and send them scrambling up the walls of the ravine.

Rowan cast about her quickly. She spotted Misara leaping from Iron's back up and out of the ravine. Thayla and two of her men were nearby, however separated by fallen trees, formed into a tight, defensive circle, fighting off goblins and two or three orcs.

Rowan put her hand down towards the man she had saved. "Get on," she ordered.

He grabbed her hand and Rowan pulled him up so he was perched behind her.

She wished she had a horn, something to make a great deal of noise with. Rose Thorn must have sensed her desire for he screamed as they thundered towards where Thayla and the others fought.

Again the stallion made an impossible leap, apparently unburdened by the second rider. The horse landed near one of the orcs. The orc spun about, a falchion gripped in his hands. He leapt forward, the heavy blade swinging down from a high attack, aimed at Rose Thorn's head.

Rose Thorn turned so Rowan was able to meet the attack with her sword. The weapons rang out as they connected and Rowan could feel the force of the blow in her shoulder.

The man she had saved shifted behind and slid from Rose Thorn's saddle as the orc reversed his swing and turned the falchion, swinging it up at Rose Thorn's belly. Again Rowan parried the blow, and countered, stabbing her long sword along his arm, aiming for the armpit.

The orc managed to drop his arm, driving her sword down so that it struck armour. Still, her keen sword managed to pierce the steel of his breastplate and the skin beneath. Not a mortal wound, but good enough.

Then the man she had saved leapt forward, swinging his sabre around in a wide arc to take the orc's head off.

Thayla and her people had taken advantage with Rowan's arrival and pushed their offensive, scattering and killing goblins as they made their way close to the Paladin.

"We can't stay here," Thayla said, her voice loud.

Rowan was inclined to agree, and there was a ravine near by where they might make their escape. She did not know, however, if that way had been left open by chance or if there was method to all parts of the attack. There was little other choice however.

"That way," she said, pointing towards the opening.

The unhorsed man grabbed a riderless horse and they started forward. Rowan looked about her for a moment. There was no sign of Olpara or Misara, and even as she watched Iron stomped a goblin to death before crashing through the branches of a fallen tree and disappearing down another ravine.

She turned Rose Thorn about and followed after the others.

* * *

Misara had come up on a slope covered in scrub and small trees. Several goblins were gathered nearby, reloading a collection of crossbows. They goggled at her as she appeared near them, and were reaching for their swords as she moved among them. She cut one down while he was still drawing his sword. The second goblin fell, his defence easily beaten back. A third had brought his sword up in a guard, but Misara's sword had shattered his and then took his head off. The fourth she stabbed through the heart and at the same time she knelt down to scoop up one of the reloaded crossbows. She put a bolt through the eye of the last.

There were other goblins, in small groups, gathered around the edges of the ravines. Misara drove the point of her sword into the dirt and then picked up another of the crossbows. Poorly built and maintained, but it would do. She fired and a goblin went down.

There were several loaded crossbows at her feet and she quickly cycled through them, picking them up, firing them, and then tossing the weapon aside. The goblins had panicked and run, some fleeing off between the trees and others leaping into the ravines.

She dropped the last crossbow and then grabbed her sword. She had no interest in the goblins. There were orcs about, and she strongly suspected that they were looking for her. She set off, scanning the area for the orcs, or any other danger that might present itself.

* * *

Rowan knew they had to get out of the ravine. The tight confines made it difficult to manoeuvre about on horseback, and the goblins were using the high ground effectively. They shot down at them with crossbows, or threw spears or rocks. And when they did come down to fight, they could easily retreat back up the walls of the ravine. One of the men had been badly wounded and Rowan had only kept him alive with divine healing.

A few times orcs were with the goblins, but they would not stay long, and retreated before Rowan or the others could engage them. They were looking for Misara, Rowan realised. As soon as they saw she was not there they would leave.

Rowan spotted sunlight ahead. "This way," she called, and turned Rose Thorn about. She scattered the goblins in her way, and charged out of the ravine, into a large, open space beyond the hills. Ahead of her were the densely packed trees of the Forest of Wyrms. Behind her the ravines, but the open space around her was wide enough for the horses to be used effectively, and the space was wide enough to force the goblins from hiding if they wanted a fight.

Thayla rode up beside her and looked about. "How long do you think we can hold here?"

"As long as we have to," Rowan told her. "Have faith."

Thayla shook her head and turned towards the ravine. "Alright you louts, gather up here and prepare to fight as if your life depended on it," she yelled at her men.

* * *

Olpara felt lost. She had ridden deeper into the hills, away from the sounds of battle, letting her borrowed horse have its head for a time. The man who sat in the saddle behind her was not offering any advice and slumped slightly against her. She suspected that he might have been more hurt than she had first suspected.

Her horse slowed slightly. Olpara looked about. She thought about turning around and heading back the way she had come. When she had first run it had seemed like a good idea, to get clear of the main part of the fight. She had even thought about turning around, coming back once she had a little time to think about the best spells to use.

She had not.

The man behind her shifted slightly behind her. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice slightly slurred.

"I had hoped you knew," Olpara said.

"What?"

"Never mind." She directed the horse to a small bush nearby and reached out to break a forked twig from it. She had a spell that should lead her back to Rowan.

Then she heard sounds above her.

Before she could do anything four or five orcs had slid down the walls of the ravine. One of them swung a heavy mace at her. Olpara ducked low against the back of the horse. The mace hit the man behind her with a wet crunch and he fell from the horse.

Another orc grabbed her and pulled her from the saddle. She fell and hit the ground hard enough to knock the wind from her lungs.

"Got the halfling," one of them said in orcish.

"Got the horse."

"This one's near dead."

"Think Kesk want the halfling?" the one standing over Olpara asked. He pulled the short sword from the sheath at her belt and tossed it away.

"He didn't say to kill her, so we don't kill her," one who had not yet spoken said. Olpara, having gotten some of her breath back, turned to see the speaker. He was an old looking orc, his face heavily scarred.

"Well, maybe we can ask her some questions then, about the elf," the orc who held her said. He pulled a long dirk from a sheath on his wrist. "Kesk mind if she a little bloody?" He placed the knife tip against her jaw, gently poking her with it.

Olpara remembered being taken by the giants. She remembered the cries of her friends. She had been so frightened that the giants would turn their attention on her. She had listened to Midan, the soft, lazy wizard who had first refused to say anything to the giants. And then, as time passed, and his screams grew more pained, he had begun to break.

Olpara had not wanted to suffer like that. What was the point of being brave, of refusing to talk, when eventually the pain would break you anyway? She could not take that.

"Please," she said, her voice almost a squeak, "I'll tell you what you want to know. Just don't hurt me." Saying it made her feel terrible, like the worst creature on all of Faerûn, but it also relieved her. She would not have to try to hold out.

The orc leered down at her. "Going to talk already," he said. "What's the little bird going to sing about?"

The old, scarred orc pushed forward and stood over Olpara. He held up his left arm, and the wicked, steel hook where his hand should have been. "Tell us all about the elf," he said.

Where to start, Olpara wondered. She was not even sure where Misara was. Perhaps she could offer to take them to her. The spell she had planned to use to find Rowan would easily help her track down Misara.

Then, before she could even make the offer, the orc with the hook rocked to the side. The other orcs cried out in surprise; the one holding Olpara released her as he stood. Olpara took her eyes from the hook and looked up at the old orc. There was an arrow sticking out of his neck.

The old orc fell to his knees, and then over on to his side.

The orcs tried to lift shields, or dodge out of the way, but arrows streaked down from the ravine top, finding openings in armour. The orcs hit to the ground, lying still with the dark shafts still quivering in their bodies.

Olpara looked around, amazed at the speed at which the orcs had died.

There was the sound of dirt and rock falling and Olpara turned towards the noise, seeing Misara slide down the side of the ravine, a rough short-bow in her hand, arrow held ready.

"Misara," Olpara said softly. She could not ever remember feeling so shamed and low as she did at that moment.

"Are you alright?" Misara asked her.

Olpara nodded.

Misara walked to each of the orcs and used the toe of her boot to push at them. One of them moaned. She walked over to the fallen man and knelt beside him. Her voice was soft, and the words elvish. Olpara realised she was praying. A moment later the man groaned and opened his eyes.

"Just lay down for a moment," Misara told him.

"Is he going to be alright?" Olpara asked as she got to her feet.

"Just some cracked ribs now." She stood and walked over to the orc who still lived.

Olpara watched as she pulled the orc up to a sitting position and then slapped him across the face. "Talk to me," she said in orcish.

How odd the orc tongue sounded when voiced by an elf, Olpara thought.

"Kesk will kill you," the orc said, and then laughed. "He has the favour of He Who Watches."

"Kesk? Well, where can I find this Kesk?"

The orc laughed again. "Near the top of the hill where the trees are burnt. Go there and die elf." He spat at Misara, but she shifted her head aside and the spittle landed near Olpara's feet.

Misara lay the orc down, her movements surprisingly gentle. She took her dagger from her belt and slit his throat. Olpara watched, noting that Misara's lips moved as she spoke something too soft for her to hear. Was she praying?

"Find a place to hide and wait," Misara said as she stood.

Olpara wanted to ask what Misara would do next, but she left so quickly, climbing up the side of the ravine and disappearing.

* * *

The goblins did not come out of the ravines. They fired their crossbows, but the bolts fell far short of where Rowan and the others waited. Thayla and her men had strung their bows and fired a few arrows into the forest. It was more of a warning than any attempt to stop the goblins.

"I'm not certain they are going to leave the ravines," Thayla told Rowan.

"Not yet," Rowan said. She suspected that the goblins were getting ready for something. She knew that the little creatures could be quite devious, and with intelligent leadership their numbers made them a very real threat. When they finally committed themselves to an attack Rowan intended to ride away, causing any formations they might have to pull apart. Then she could turn and attack the goblins while they were disorganised.

It was a serviceable plan, assuming that the goblins did not do anything too surprising.

An arrow shot out of the woods and hit one of the Thayla's riders, knocking the man from his saddle.

"To cover," Rowan shouted.

They rode fast, moving farther from the ravine, closer to the woods, and into the cover offered by a small copse of trees. More arrows shot out of the woods, whistling close by. Several buried themselves deep into the trees they sheltered behind.

"Those aren't goblins with crossbows," Thayla said.

Rowan shook her head as she got down from Rose Thorn. "Maybe the orcs." She moved through the copse until she was on the edge closest to the ravine. Several of the goblins had moved out into the open, running to areas of cover. Then several hobgoblins exited the ravine, kicking at a group of goblins to get them to move faster. Each of hobgoblins carried a longbow and was followed by goblins carrying extra quivers full of arrows.

Rowan turned and sprinted back to where the others waited. "Hobgoblins," she said, pulling her crossbow from Rose Thorn's saddle. "Come on."

She moved back into the copse. She could not let the hobgoblins set up. If they could move to firing positions with cover it was certain they could pin her and the others down while the goblins circled around to attack them from their flanks and rear.

As she reached the edge of the copse she set the heavy crossbow's windlass in place and began winding the string back.

At her sides Thayla and her two, remaining men were drawing their bows.

* * *

The hill with the burnt crown was not difficult to find. Misara circled around and approached it from the side opposite to the where the ambush occurred. She slipped between the scrub and small trees, moving silently and hidden. She spotted an orc crouching in the behind some bushes, covered partially by a mottled green cloak. Well hidden, for an orc.

She looked about and began to spot other orcs, arrayed out along a steep path that led up the hill. It did not look like they were set up for a simple ambush. She suspected that they were there to drive someone, herself, up the path, to whatever was waiting at the top.

Cut off her retreat and force her to fight.

She moved back from the orc and paralleled the path, moving through the bushes, unseen. When she had passed all the orcs she moved onto the path, looking about to make certain she remained unseen.

She placed a trip line on the trail, setting it to trigger a firetrap. The trail secured, she continued climbing, moving to the side into cover.

At the end of the trail she found four orcs waiting. They were alert, and carried their weapons ready. Misara was a little taken aback by the female orc with them. She usually did not see female orcs outside of their caves.

Farther up, near the edge of the burnt area, she saw the mouth of a cave. Standing in front of it was a tall, broad form wearing armour. This was a trap, she thought. To drive her up here, trap her, so that Kesk, possibly the one who stood by the cave, might kill her.

She had been thinking about Kesk, ever since she had heard the name from the orc. There had been a Kesk, several years before. He and others had plotted to poison the water and food of Baldur's Gate so that they might take the city with ease. She had stopped them months before they had been ready to move, taking the leaders, of which Kesk had been one.

He had been turned over to the authorities at Baldur's Gate. She had assumed he had been executed.

Misara decided that whether it was the Kesk she recalled, or someone with his name, or an undead creature seeking vengeance, that it did not matter. She would have to deal with him to save the children. Over the distance she could hear soft cries coming from the cave. For now at least some of the children still lived.

She drew her sword and freed her sheath from her belt. She stepped out behind the four orcs who were waiting for her, pointing the mouth of the sheath towards them. She spoke the word to call up its power.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Just wanted to thank those people who have put something up in the reviews section, and I hope that you are enjoying the story. Just so you know, I hope to have all 30 chapters of this story up soon.


	22. An Ancient Conflict

**Chapter 22 - An Ancient Battle**  
by Shawn Hagen

Kesk saw the elf as she stepped from cover. Before he could call out a warning, before he could even consider how she managed to sneak past all his sentries, she had done something that enveloped Sheepa and the three orcs with her in a cloud of bright colours. He started running down the path towards her.

She moved forward, the cloud moving with her. Kesk could hear the sound of wind blowing, and, almost overwhelmed by the wind, the cries of anger and surprise from the orcs.

As she moved towards those cries one of the orcs was revealed. Scracka, Kesk thought, recognising him by his spiked helmet. Still blinded by whatever it was that the wind blew, ears likely ringing from the noise, he was confused, perhaps completely unaware that his death stood beside him.

The elf's sword stabbed forward, sliding under his helmet and into his neck.

Next was Sheepa. She may have been aware of what was happening. It almost looked as if she had raised her sword to block, but it was too slow. The elf's sword cut deep into Sheepa's side, and there was a splash of blood as she fell.

Ashka fell next, the double-bladed axe that he was so proud of useless.

Finally Dregan was cut down, his head taken right from his shoulders. As he fell the elf turned towards Kesk, her sheath, the object from which the wind blew, pointed at him.

He was on the edge of that blast, the wind was weak by the time it reached him, and the blossoms within it fluttered down around him without blinding him. He stopped, put his spear out in front of him, and began calling out his prayers to Gruumsh. He called for strength, protection, speed, all the blessings that he might ask for. He would see the elf dead.

The wind stopped, the blossoms fell to the ground, blanketing it in the sweet smelling colours of spring. The elf strode forward, stopping some distance from him. She stood there, grim faced, confident.

Kesk shifted his spear so it was pointed at her. "Come to your death," he said, smiling.

He had hoped that by this time she might be wounded and surrounded by his orcs so that she could not escape, and so that the orcs might see her death. It was how he had wanted things, but he was certain that he could still succeed in seeing her dead.

The elf drove the sheath's tip into the blossom-covered ground, leaving it to stand up. She held her sword in front of her, the flat of the blade facing him like a shield, two fingers of her other hand placed on the flat of the blade. She did not move from that stance.

Kesk shifted his spear in his hands, the tip tracing out a large circle, seeking her capture her attention and focus it on the black metal. Finally he charged, hoping to take her for a moment unaware.

The elf remained still, holding her post and position. He though she would move out of the way and he waited for the shifting of her balance that would indicate which way she would move. Her stance remained unchanged, her balance centred. He realised that she was not going to move. Instead she rotated the sword she held, dropping the hilt, letting it describe a circle of its own. The blade caught the tip of his spear, hard, driving it down so it passed by her side.

The fingers she had placed on the blade shifted up the flat side, moving from hilt to tip. As Kesk's charge brought him close to her he felt the Gruumsh granted strength and speed drop from his limbs, dispelled by the power of that sword.

* * *

Misara shifted to her left as she called on the power of the sword to dispel any magic that the orc might have called up. She grabbed the sheath as she moved, holding it in her left hand, swinging it up into a guard position.

Kesk reacted quickly. He lifted the long spear he carried, the tip moving rapidly into the air. Then he shifted his stance and swung at her with the iron-shod butt of the spear.

She blocked the swing with the sheath, and then dodged back as he reversed the swing and drove the butt towards her. He swung the spear around, handling the long weapon almost like a quarterstaff, making it blur, as he brought the spear tip to point at her.

Misara circled to her left, watching him move, getting a feel for his style. Kesk moved only enough to keep the spearhead pointed at her. She shifted left, then stepped back to the right and charged at him. She knocked the spear to the side with the sheath, leaving him open. Or so she thought.

He was able to shift the spear shaft backwards incredibly fast, shortening the haft, allowing him to swing the weapon at her, using it more like an axe at that moment. Misara aborted her attack and used the sword to parry the blow.

It was the first time that sword and spearhead made contact. She felt it, like a shock, through her body, and the metal on metal sound was almost like a scream. For a moment they were face to face, only their weapons separating them.

Then Kesk made the shaft slide through his hands and brought the butt of the weapon swinging at her. She turned at the waist, swinging out with her sheath, parrying the blow. It was knocked wide, and glanced off her right shoulder.

She attacked again, but once more the spear moved impossibly fast in his hands and he parried her attack with the blade of his spear. Kesk then moved back, using the long spear to keep her from closing.

He was fast.

For a moment they stood facing each other, both waiting.

Kesk moved first, charging her with the spear. Misara held her ground and lunged out with sword and sheath, crossing them together in an X that she used to catch the shaft. She lifted her hands, pushing the spear over her head, and then ran straight at Kesk. He tried to push down on the spear, to break her hold on it, or to force her to her knees, but she was not overcome by his strength. Instead she forced his hands up as the shaft rose higher.

As she closed she turned slightly, pushing the spear off to the side. She followed up that with a kick, and planned to bring her sword into play again. The kick hit, but her sword was nearly pulled from her hands as it caught on the head of the spear.

Surprised, Misara kept her grip on her sword and weaved both sword and sheath in a complex pattern that would catch any attack.

Kesk stabbed at her, bashing aside her defence and very nearly piercing her left shoulder with the spearhead. As it was the edge of the spear cut the links of her armour and sliced a shallow cut into her skin.

His spear was shorter, she realised. It was not he moving the weapon with unnatural speed, it was the weapon shrinking and growing as he desired. One moment it was a long spear, the next a short spear, or any length in-between. Even the spearhead was able to alter its shape.

Apparently realising that she had seen through his ruse he spun the spear about in front of him, the weapon more a quarterstaff with a bladed end now.

Very well, Misara thought. She could deal with it now that she knew what the weapon was capable of.

She charged in, bartering aside the long spear that leapt out to skewer her. In close she traded blows with him, her sword ringing out on the elongated blade of a short spear. Even knowing what to expect she had difficulty with him. One moment the weapon's haft was short and the blade long, so it was more a sword. The next it had grown and he swung it around like a staff, catching her sword and sheath as she tried to batter through his defence.

Just when she though she had him worked into a pattern he took her by surprise. He swung the butt of the weapon at her, and when she shifted around it, he let it continue down until the iron-shod butt met ground and the spear stood perpendicular to the ground. She suspected that he would rotate the haft around, using it to knock both her sword and sheath aside and then use a suddenly shorter weapon to attack her while she was open.

Misara came in anyway, knowing a counter to such a movement. What Kesk did, however, was not something she had expected.

The spear shaft grew, lifting Kesk into the air at a great speed. He kicked out, his armoured boot snapping up, aimed directly at the bottom her chin. Misara moved to the right, taking the bow under her left arm instead.

It almost felt as if the shoulder came free of its socket, and the sheath she held flew free from momentarily nerveless fingers. She was lifted off her feet from the force of the kick, and fell stumbling back, off her balance.

Kesk followed after her, dropping forward, still holding the spear. When his feet touched ground he charged her and tried to spit her with a shortened spear. Unable to muster an effective counter Misara was forced to throw herself to the side in an ungainly dodge that did nothing to strengthen her position. It in fact weakened it.

She rolled to her feet, ready, her posture much more defensive than it had been at the beginning of the battle.

* * *

Kesk felt strong. Ever since he had begun his quest to destroy the elf he had felt a sense of rightness, as if Gruumsh watched over his work and approved of it. That sense had only grown since the fight had begun.

The elf had proven difficult. She had adapted quickly to his tactics, but he was certain that he could beat her. While Gruumsh was with him no elf would stand in his way.

He pressed his advantage, attacking hard and fast, determined to use strength and the abilities of his weapon to defeat her. And as she fell back under the strength of his attack he was certain of his victory.

* * *

Rowan set her last crossbow bolt into her crossbow. She looked out over the field, trying to pick her target. A group of goblins was trying to flank her and the others. She had already picked out a likely leader, a goblin larger than the rest, and waited for him to show himself. When he did she fired.

The goblin went down, the bolt buried deep in his chest.

"I'm out of bolts," she called to Thayla.

"We're getting low on arrows." She leaned over and pulled an arrow from the tree and nocked it. "At least they are sending a few over this way." She smiled, but Rowan could see the forced quality to it. The woman was frightened and likely doubting her ability to survive this fight.

Rowan was not certain herself. Had it been just her she was certain she could win free of the goblins, killing no few of them in the process. She did not think she could successfully escape with Thayla and the men with her, and she had no plans to abandon them.

"Provide me with a little cover fire if you can," Rowan told her.

"When you need it I'll see what we can do."

Rowan moved back through the copse, to where they had tied the horses. Rose Thorn looked at her and snorted, shifting his head back and forth.

"I know," she said, reaching up to scratch him between the ears. "Hold steady."

Rose Thorn pushed against her with his head, causing her to stumble backwards slightly.

"I never said it was a good plan," she told him, and then moved about to hook the crossbow back to the saddle and pull her shield free.

Rose Thorn looked back at her, watching her. He stomped his foot again.

"Not yet," she told him. "I'll call when I need you." She turned and moved off, skirting about the copse, watching for goblins.

She spotted one group, close by, and charged out among them. Several of the goblins let out shrieks, and even turned to flee. Misara ignored them and attacked the ones that stood their ground. Three fell in rapid succession before even managing to counter. She had smashed another down with her shield, then shifted the shield up to block a sword blow.

Pushing the shield up forced the goblin's sword out of guard. She slashed under the shield, cutting through the goblins ragged chain mail, opening up a long, fatal gash in its abdomen.

An arrow whistled nearby, flying off into the woods behind her. She swung her shield around to interpose it between her and the archers and began backing up towards the copse. She hoped Thayla and the others might be able to pick off the hobgoblin archers.

The goblins followed after her, whooping as they came, thinking her in retreat. When she had the trees of the copse at her back, proving cover from the arrows, she halted and swung out her sword with a powerful backhand. The blade easily overcame the goblin's parry and the blade continued on to chop deeply into the creature's neck.

Another goblin tried to stop, but ended up stumbling forward, almost falling at her feet. Part of her felt sorry for the small beast, but that did not stop her from cutting down and finishing it off.

The rest of the goblins turned and ran. She did not follow but instead began circling back around the copse.

She had killed about six of the goblins, and sent that many again running away. Her strategy would work a few more times, but the archers would become quicker in their response, and the goblins would probably change their tactics as well. It was not a solution, just a way to give them more time.

The shadows had begun to grow long. The sun would set in a few hours at most. She did not know whom the darkness would favour, assuming that there was still fighting when that time came.

On the other side of the copse she charged another group of goblins, managing to take down two before incoming arrows forced her to retreat. An arrow hit her shield hard enough to push her to the side even as it bounced off. One of the goblins rushed forward with a spear, trying to stab at her. She drove the hilt of her sword down, hitting the spearhead, sending it plunging into the ground. As the goblin was brought to a hard halt by its own spear she sliced it across the face and sent it stumbling away.

The goblins that followed her as she retreated towards the copse did so with more caution than their fellows on the other side had shown. She was only able to wound one before they retreated in an almost orderly manner.

She and the others were going to have to retreat into the actual forest, Rowan realised. Once among the trees they could move out of the area, and any goblins that followed them would be denied the support offered by the archers. Hopefully they would not run into anything too dangerous.

She heard some shouts from the goblins, and a large shadow passed over the ground. She looked up and saw a large, winged form pass overhead. For an instant she feared it was one of the green dragons that were known to inhabit the Forest of Wyrms. A moment later she realised it was a pegasi, a winged horse with a rider upon it back.

The horse banked sharply, and she saw the rider extend one hand towards the ground. From the rider's hand sprang forth bolts of magical energy that streaked down to hit several goblins.

There was another pegasus, with another rider, and that rider carried a large staff. From the staff washed a curtain of fire that set several goblins ablaze. Rowan did not give much thought to the identity or intentions of her rescuers; she just let out a piercing whistle that brought Rose Thorn running to her side.

"Let's not let them get all the glory, eh," she said as she vaulted into his saddle.

Rose Thorn whinnied and tossed his head as she mounted, and then, at her direction, charged forward.

The aerial attack had thrown the goblins into disarray, and the hobgoblins had turned their attention and bows to the pegasi above them. She watched as one of the hobgoblins loosed an arrow, but the arrow did not even come close to its target, deflected as if blown away by strong winds. It did not get the chance to fire a second. Rowan took the hobgoblin's head from his shoulders as Rose Thorn thundered past.

Rowan saw the pegasi rider above her lift his staff, as if a saluting her, then he turned his mount and flew off after a group of fleeing goblins.

Rowan pushed Rose Thorn hard, charging him across the field and demanding that the stallion make tight turns as she herded the goblins back into the open, keeping them from seeking the safety of the ravines, allowing the pegasi riders to rain spells down on them.

In a short time the field was empty of living goblins, and the number of dead who lay about were large in number. Rowan pulled Rose Thorn to a stop and leapt from his back, moving to examine the man who had been first felled by the hobgoblins. She had hoped he might have survived, but by the wound she suspected he had died almost instantly.

One of the pegasi landed upon the ground nearby, and its rider, a middle-aged, handsome man with a long blond beard, jumped down to the ground. He was the one with the staff.

"Well met," he said as he approached her. "Do I have the honour of addressing Rowan Jassan?" His tone and bearing were formal, and yet he smiled, as if to soften the edges of the address.

"It is I who have the honour of meeting you. Please, let me know your names so I may thank you properly."

He laughed. "I am Kirksin, called Blonde Beard by some, and that Lady Jassan," and he pointed towards the second pegasi, that had just landed, "is Stedd Tallcrest, my friend and sometimes apprentice."

Stedd was a younger man, tall and thin, with short brown hair and dark skin. He remained mounted upon the pegasus, watching the area about them, but nodded politely to her as he was introduced.

"Kirksin, Stedd Tallcrest, thank you very much for your aid."

Kirksin smiled. "I am always pleased to help a lady. I see you are not alone."

Rowan saw that Thayla and her two companions had gathered up their horses and were riding towards them.

"Well met good sir," Thayla called. "Did the lady Halacanter send you?"

Kirksin nodded. "She did indeed."

"Perhaps this is not the best time to speak," Stedd called over to them. "The scent of so much blood may bring things out of the forest that we do not wish to meet."

"My young friend has a point," Kirksin said.

"We have other companions out here, and we still have to find the children" Thayla said.

"So they told us at Serpent's Cowl. Do they still live?"

"I am sure that Misara and Olpara still live," Rowan said.

"The children are still alive," Thayla stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

"Very well. There is a ravine not far from here that will take you to the river and it is open to the sky most of the way so that I may watch over you from above," Kirksin said. "Stedd, take to the air, see if you can spot anyone."

"Right." The young man put his heels to his steed's side and the pegasi launched itself into the air.

"We only have until the sun begins to set," Kirksin said as he pulled himself onto his pegasi. "Then it will be too day to fly."

"Let's go," Rowan said as she mounted Rose Thorn. "As you say, we are racing the sun."

* * *

Kesk came on strong, spinning his spear about him, forcing Misara to deal with attacks coming in from all sides. She met those attacks, parrying them, dodging them, and finding holes in Kesk's defences, breaking his stride and forcing him to build up his momentum each time.

She had yet to find a way to push completely past his defences so as to end the fight decisively. There had to be a way, she was certain of that, but at the moment she could not find it.

He lunged at her, his spear tip moving in a circle. Sword in both hands she moved backwards, trying to knock the spearhead to the side so she might move in. Not that doing so would give her a huge advantage, but her sword required her to close.

She knocked the spear high and charged in, her sword held above her head, in contact with the spear shaft. The action caused her left shoulder to blossom with pain, but she did her best to put it from her mind. She could feel the spear shifting, shortening, through the contact she had with it through her sword. When he swung the butt up at her she was ready for it, shifting around, spinning to her right, coming around behind him.

Kesk drove his spear down behind him, to block the attack on his back, but Misara continued her spin, coming up on his right, stabbing forward at the side of his breast plate, the blade cutting the leather straps that held it closed.

Kesk threw himself to his side before the sword could pierce deeply, but she saw the blood staining the severed leather straps. He landed on his shoulder, his spear shortening significantly so it did not interfere with his roll. When he came up onto his knees he stabbed the spear out towards Misara. The shaft lengthened with the speed of an arrow and Misara barely managed to knock it aside.

She reached out and grabbed the spear's shaft. It was like grabbing a red-hot iron, a burning sensation felt through the leather and steel of her gauntlet. She held on to it, and when Kesk tried to pull it from her hands she let herself go with it. It pulled her directly at him.

He acted fast, thrashing the spear to the side, to pull her off her path. Misara reacted faster, releasing the spear and continuing her charge right at him.

The spear shortened in his hands and he tried to bring it around to block her. He would not be fast enough. This time she had the opening she wanted. And as she raised her sword and lashed out at him, she felt as if she were not completely in charge of her decisions.

She passed by Kesk.

He screamed.

She brought herself to a stop, sliding around so she was facing him.

Kesk had spun, still bellowing.

Something fluttered to the ground between them. It was Kesk's eye patch.

There was a deep cut across his face, over where his left eye had once been. Had it not been missing Misara knew that she would have taken it.

"Shall we see where this fight will go?" she asked.

A scream of pure rage tore from Kesk's throat and he came at her, all mindless anger, swinging the spear around him so that it blurred. There was no technique to his attack, just pure strength and fury.

Misara did not try to meet those attacks. She avoided them, slipping around them, dodging to the side, moving as if she danced. With any other opponent in such a rage she would wait for him to burn out, to tire, but she did not think that Kesk would. His rage was driven by something beyond mortal fury. Instead she was waiting for the moment when the rage fell away and the cold, calculating warrior returned: For that instant where he would be uncertain and off balance.

It came as he held the spear high above his head, ready to bring it down where she stood. She could see it in the way he held himself, as he tried to move into a stance that did not leave him so exposed.

Misara leapt in, swinging her sword to knock the spear away. Not able to bring the sword around fast enough to attack she drove her elbow into his face. Her mailed elbow slammed into his mouth and she heard a sound like branches breaking.

Kesk took his right hand from his spear and tried to punch her. Misara shifted her head to the side, his gauntleted first almost brushing her ear. Before she could dodge to the side he opened his hand and grabbed hold of her hair, twisting it around his fingers.

Misara's hair turned from black to silver as an enchantment cast long ago turned each strand to steel. As he pulled, the thin, sharp strands cut through the steel and leather of his gauntlet, cutting his hand and severing his smallest finger. He released his hold on her hair, throwing it away from him. Misara spun away from him, hardly hindered.

They ended up standing some distance from each other, their gazes locked.

Kesk spat out blood and teeth. He put his maimed hand on the shaft of his spear, holding it as if his hand did not pain him at all.

Misara looked at him and felt a strange excitement she could not quite understand. There were at least ten ways she could think to end the battle, to kill Kesk. There were at least that many ways that he might kill her.

She was not afraid.

In the distance she heard the sound of an explosion. Her firetrap activating she supposed.

She charged forward.

Kesk stabbed forward with his spear.

Misara shifted to the side and drove the spear down with her left forearm. She shifted back, leaping up, coming down on the spear's shaft, the burning pain felt through her boots, pushing the spearhead into the ground.

Kesk tried to free the weapon, but for the moment Misara's weight held it tight.

She ran several steps up the spear, even as it shrunk. She leapt from it, launching herself towards him. Her sword led, the tip aimed right at his throat. He could not bring his spear up quickly enough to block or force her back. He could not move fast enough to dodge out of her way.

He drove his chin down against his chest, protecting his throat.

Misara's sword tip hit the nose guard of his helmet with a loud, ringing sound. The blade tip deeply scoured the metal before sliding up, under the helmet, cutting deep into the skin over his right eye. The sword continued up, cutting scalp and taking the helmet from his head.

Misara's lunge had her sailing over Kesk's shoulder. She hit the ground, rolled, and spun as she came to her feet.

Kesk had also turned, and lashed out with his spear, but the attack was poorly aimed. The copious blood flow from the head wound washed his right eye in red, nearly blinding him.

He was near panic, and he had his spear short, moving it fast, trying to maintain a solid defence. With his left hand he tried to wipe the blood away to clear his vision. It would probably not take him long to realise he could heal the wound, but Misara did not intend on giving him that time.

Sword held in both hands, she moved in, a strong blow catching the spear and knocking it from his injured hand. As the spear went spinning off Kesk tried to grab the long knife from his belt, but Misara reversed the swing of her sword and brought it down on him, cutting him across the chest from right to left.

Kesk stumbled back, turning, perhaps falling, perhaps running. Misara stepped forward, ready to deliver the killing blow. It felt right, perfect, as if this was something that had been coming for a long time. She felt a sense of Corellon Larethian about her as she had few times before.

Time seemed to slow.

Kesk had to die.

The Paladin and the servant of Corellon Larethian both wanted him dead.

They had two different reasons for desiring that.

She realised that she could not make her paths merge. She was not strong enough. Or she did not want to be strong enough.

The choice would no longer be put off.

Her sword lashed out, her blade caught him across the throat, nearly taking his head from his shoulders. Blood sprayed from the wound, and Kesk tried to grasp the injury, to stop the blood flow, but Misara could see that the strength in his arms was failing him.

He collapsed to his knees.

Misara collapsed to hers.

He fell forward to lay face first in the dirt, the blood from his wound soaking into the soil.

The sense of divine that she felt began to fade, but as it left she felt approval, and perhaps, though it might have been her imagination, a hint of regret. The regret may have been hers.

She looked at the fallen body. "I hate you," she said, and there were tears in her eyes.

He had not been the first foe who had beaten her, who had taken something away from her, but none had ever done what the half-orc had done. And he was dead, beyond further vengeance on her part. She wished his death had not been so quick.

She found some comfort in that Kesk had died without knowing what he had achieved.

Misara stood and left the dead half-orc behind as she turned and started towards the cave that Kesk had been standing near. As she walked she cleaned his blood from her sword and then sheathed. Her wounds pained her, slowed her slightly, but she ignored them for a pain that was much deeper.

As she got closer she could hear whispered conversation and muffled cries.

The cave was not too deep, and showed little sign of habitation, but for an old fire pit near the mouth. In the back were the children and young people stolen from Serpent's Cowl. She saw them clearly even in the shadows at the back of the cave, but to them she was just a form at the mouth of the cave.

"It's going to be alright," she said in the common tongue. "There is nothing to be afraid of. I am here to rescue you." She was amazed at how calm she sounded.

"Who are you?" a tall girl, perhaps the oldest of the prisoners, asked.

"My name is Misara Dawntide a Pa...," she trailed off. "I was asked by the headman of your village to come and rescue you." She moved into the cave.

"What about the monster man?" a small boy called out loudly.

"The monster man can no longer hurt you," she told him, and looked at the woven gate of branches that turned the back of the cave into a cage. She drew a knife from her belt, thinking that waving her sword around might alarm the children, and cut away the bindings. With a pull she yanked the gate away and tossed it behind her.

A moment after the gate was gone Misara found herself surrounded by frightened children who desperately wanted to be reassured. They were tired together and threatened to trip her up with the rope.

Eventually she managed to get the children calmed down so she could cut their bonds. She looked at a little boy with a cut to his head. She reached out and placed her hand on him, without thinking, trying to heal him. Nothing happened. She closed her eyes and then whispered a soft prayer. She almost cried in relief as the prayer was answered, the cut on the boy's head healing.

She then healed or otherwise treated the wounds that other children had taken while being carried away by the orcs. The girl she had first spoken to, Tana, she put in charge of watching over the rest, making certain that none ran off. She asked them to stay in the cave for the time, allowing Tana to leave to get water for the others.

Misara did not go too far from the cave. She knew that it was important that the children be able to see her. She stopped near Kesk's corpse and looked about. It seemed quiet.

For a moment she had no idea what to do. Nothing seemed to make sense any longer. Then she heard the sound of the children, asking Tana when they might get home. She would focus on the practical matters. It was all she could do.

Placing her fingers in her mouth she whistled, a loud, piercing sound that would bring Iron to her.

While she waited she knelt down and rolled Kesk's body over so she might search him. As she worked she said a prayer that would allow her to see the aura of magic and also concentrated on her ability to see the presence of evil. The prayer was answered, but she could no longer detect evil.

She almost lost her concentration on the spell. "Stop being such a fool," she told her herself, and then said the word to a prayer, words she had never said before, that would allow her to see evil. From this point on she would have to count on Corellon Larethian for such things.

Perhaps that was how it was meant to be.

He did have some items of magic on him: Some potions, a case full of scrolls-no few holding the formula and incantations for powerful spells-his dagger, a ring, the armour her wore, and a pendant around his neck. Only the pendant, a black stone, radiated an evil aura. She crushed it under her heel, pleased to note that both that magical and evil auras faded away.

He had carried other things of value as well. A purse full of gold and silver coins, most of them Sembian ravens and nobles, the rest a collection of coins from all over Faerûn, represented a small fortune. She also found three small leather-pouches. Each one held a collection of precious stones, a true fortune in each.

Someone had given Kesk all that he carried. They had given it to him so that he might seek her out. Asharass, she thought, tossing a bag of gemstones in her hand. An agent with no connection to Asharass, who would know nothing of value if captured, sent after her.

Misara got to her feet, leaving the treasure lying on the ground for the moment, and walked over to the spear that Kesk had wielded. The aura of magic and the taint of evil clung to the spear, but both were fading even as she watched. Whatever magic the spear had once held was fading with Kesk's death.

She picked the spear up, ignoring the burning pain, and broke it across her knee. She tossed the pieces aside and started back towards the cave. She stopped, turned, and looked up at the sky. There were two pegasi flying off in the distance.

Recalling what the Calroth had said about seeking aid from Aluena Halacanter, she drew her sword and held up so the sun would flash off the blade.

Not long after one of the pegasus wheeled about and flew towards her. It passed high above her, no doubt allowing the rider to be certain that there was no danger on the ground. From the cave she heard some children shout out in excitement.

It flew by again, lower, and then the third time, turning sharply and then landing not far from where Misara stood. The rider was a young, dark man. "Misara Dawntide?" he asked.

"Yes."

"I am Stedd Tallcrest. Currently my friend Kirksin flies above your companions to see them safely to the river."

"They are well?"

"One of the men from the village fell, and your halfling companion and the man with her are still unaccounted for, as are the children stolen from the village."

"The children have been found," she told him, and looked towards the cave.

He smiled. "I am glad. I had no desire to leave here without having found them."

"It will be difficult to get them out of here. There are twenty three of them."

"Not to worry. Aluena gave Kirksin a spell that will open a gate to the village."

"She is quite generous."

Stedd nodded, and smiled at that, taking obvious pleasure at the compliment Misara offered the sorceress. "I'll go speak with Kirksin and the others about what we should do next."

Misara nodded. "Good speed."

"Stay safe," he said, and then turned the pegasus about and rode off a short distance. The winged horse began to run, wings beating, and then launched itself into the air. Misara walked back to the cave to tell the children the latest news, certain they would be happy to learn that rescue and safety were at hand.

* * *

Iron made it Misara's side several minutes before Stedd returned. Misara was very glad to see him. She had feared that he might not come to her. The big horse, covered in blood, very little of it his own, scared a number of children and Misara had to lead him away. Olpara and the missing rider arrived not too long afterwards. Olpara had heard the whistle and seen Iron running towards the hill.

When Stedd returned she was able to tell him that all of her companions were accounted for. Stedd was happy to hear about that and returned to the air to tell Kirksin.

It was Kirksin who flew to the hilltop next. He told Misara that he and Stedd would see Rowan and the others safely from the ravines, and would watch over them as long as there was light.

He then produced a scroll from within his cloak and used it to open a gate to Serpent's Cowl. The rider and the children ran happily through the gate, seeing their home on the other side. Olpara also went gratefully, apparently happy to be away from that place. Misara looked about, thinking that she should stay behind and deal with the remaining orcs, if there were any. Unfortunately she did not have the time.

"I'll see you in Serpent's Cowl," she said to Kirksin.

"We'll share a drink and stories," he said, smiling.

Misara walked Iron through the gate and did not look back.

* * *

After the gate had winked out, after the pegasus had left, Colgam crept out from cover, into the open area. He waited until the pegasus was a dot in the sky and then moved about the area, casting his gaze about. He moved stiffly, for the explosion that had killed most of the other orcs had not left him unscathed. Fortunately he had called upon the protection of Grummsh shortly before the explosion.

He looked around, not believing that Kesk had been defeated, not wanting to believe it. How could a champion of Gruumsh have fallen to an elf? He dropped to his knees near Kesk's side, seeing that anything of value or use had been stripped from the body. He cursed angrily, and leapt to his feet, wishing to hurt the elf, or anyone who might cross his path. It was then that he spotted the broken spear, the pieces in some tall grass. Colgam ran and grabbed them up.

The spearhead was badly chipped, as were some of the iron rings along the shaft, not to mention the shaft itself. The lower part was just wood, but he could feel the power in the top part, close to the spearhead: A power that felt faint, as if the favour of Gruumsh was far from it, but still present. In time, he thought, he could gain the favour of Gruumsh and return the power to the weapon that Kesk had once called up.

He smiled, turned and then walked from the hilltop.


	23. Kesk's Victory

**Chapter 23 - Kesk's Victory**  
by Shawn Hagen

The sun had set, but a large fire burned in the centre of the village, and several casks of ale had been tapped. The celebration had started soon after the children had walked through the gate and into Serpent's Cowl. Misara had only escaped the overwhelming attention and gratitude when Kirksin and Stedd had landed their pegasi shortly before the sunset.

She desperately wanted to be alone, to think on what had happened. There were many things she still had to do.

When Rowan, Thayla, and the others finally returned Misara was able to leave the press of people unnoticed and seek out Calroth. The headman was enjoying a mug of ale with Kirksin, thanking the wizard for all his help.

"Headman Calroth," she said, "may I have a moment of your time?"

"Lady Dawntide," he said, putting down his mug and bowing to her. "Of course. Please, what do you need?"

"I have no needs," she told him. "I want to give this to you," she told him, handing him the purse that she had taken off Kesk.

He took it and opened it up. His eyes widened. "I cannot take this Lady Dawntide." He tried to push it back into her hands. "If anything we should be giving you such a reward."

Misara refused to accept the purse. "You have more need for it than I do. Take it with my blessings."

He looked uncertain, holding the purse tightly in his hands. After a few seconds he relaxed slightly. "Thank you Lady Dawntide," he said, bowing down deeply.

"You are welcome Headman Calroth." She turned towards Kirksin. "For you and Stedd, and for sorceress Halacanter of course." She poured more than half the contents of one of the bags of gems into his palm.

"This is quite generous," he said, smiling widely.

"Your aid was very valuable."

"Thank you."

She nodded, then tied the bag shut and passed it to Calroth. "Give this to Thayla. She can split it up amongst her riders."

"Generous to a fault perhaps," Kirksin said with a laugh.

Misara wanted to tell the man to shut up; she did not want to hear people say things like that; not at that moment. She kept her peace and said nothing.

"Is there anything that we might do for you?" Calroth asked hopefully.

"I came here to arrange travel to Yarthrain. Perhaps you could introduce me to the owners of the fastest skiffs."

"Of course my Lady," he said and bowed again.

* * *

"You don't have to pay us Lady," Roschan told Misara, bobbing his head low and holding his cap to his chest. "You saved my sister's little boy."

Roschan was a man of average height, with a broad chest from poling his skiff. The two men standing behind him were similar in build. All of them wore warm clothing, but their feet were bare.

"My vows as a Paladin," and she almost stumbled on the word, "do not allow me to accept such rewards. I must pay you," she told him. She had told the lie about her vows many times before, but it had never echoed so falsely in her ears.

"Oh," Roschan said. He looked a little relieved. "Well, I wouldn't want to cause you trouble."

Misara took the hat from his hands and then pushed the bag of gold into them. She placed the hat back on his head. "Can we leave immediately?"

"Of course Lady." He looked over his shoulders at his two companions. They nodded vigorously. "We just need to get some supplies, and you'll want to bring your horses to the docks."

"I will meet you back here in short order then," she told Roschan.

"Of course Lady."

"Very well," she said, and watched as the three men ran off to ready their skiffs. Misara waited until she was certain that they could no longer see her for she wanted to be alone. She turned and looked out over the darkened river.

She thought about what had happened, about what it really meant.

Kesk had had to die. She had known that. She grasped the ring on the ring finger of her left hand and began to turn it.

The Paladin had needed to kill him because he was a threat to the people in the area. Because of the crimes he had committed and would commit. Because there was no one she might turn him over to; no one with authority and power, no prison in which he might be placed.

A Paladin could act as judge and executioner, but only when there was no other choice.

The champion and servant of Corellon Larethian had needed to kill him because he was an orc, or near enough. Because he was a worshipper of a god that hated the elves and would see them suffer. Because the battle mirrored one from long ago and the only proper ending was for Kesk to die.

She had swung that sword as a servant of Corellon Larethian. Even if their had been a person of authority to turn Kesk over to. Even if there had been a prison nearby to which she might send him. Even if those options had existed, she still would have killed him.

Misara thought she should feel different. And yet she did not. She still wanted to help the people of the village, and had, giving them part of the treasure that she had taken off Kesk. She still felt the need to discover what Asharass was and combat it if needed. Nothing seemed to have changed, and that seemed wrong to her.

It would be easier to understand if her decision on that hill had altered her.

She looked down at the ring she was twisting on her finger. It was the ring she had taken from her home, many, many days before. The symbol of Tyr, in gold, shone in the darkness by the river.

She might have defied her god, might have struck Kesk down with the certainty of a Paladin. Had she done that then she had little doubt that Corellon Larethian's patience with her would have ended. That he would have turned his back on her. Not in anger, but in acceptance that she was not his.

Then it might by the crescent moon holy symbol she toyed with instead of the ring. She could be a Paladin of Tyr. Somehow she knew it was not too late. She looked at the symbol and remembered the camaraderie she had felt with the followers of Tyr she had known. It would be a good life. All she had to do was ask for it.

Part of her wanted to do that. It was the part of her that had known a purity of purpose, that had performed miracles. It was a very strong desire.

A Paladin of Tyr would, however, not have a place in Daetarue. And the people of Daetarue would have little use for the stern arbiter of justice she would become. Lindra would love her, but there would be a wedge driven between mother and daughter. Perhaps Lindra's resentment of others would grow even stronger.

And, she knew with certainty, that she could never turn her back on Corellon Larethian.

It was not fair, she thought. And yet, who was she to ask the world be fair? Only a child would do such a thing, as Vilis had told her.

Misara pulled the ring from her finger. She almost imagined it seemed to speed from the digit, as if wanted to be away from her, but it was only imaginations. The enchantments on the ring were minor, and not of the sort to judge her.

It was time for her to grow up.

She tossed the ring out over the water. Heard it fall into the river with a soft splash. For a moment she stood there, feeling as if the final tie to what she had been was gone. She cursed Kesk softly and then turned and started back to the village.

The celebration had not lasted long. The people of Serpent's Cowl were farmers and come the sunrise they would be out, preparing their fields for planting. The fire in the village centre was still burning well, but only a few people sat around it.

"Rowan, Olpara," Misara said as she stepped into the firelight, "I've arranged for the skiffs to take us to Yarthrain."

"When?" Rowan asked.

"As soon as we are ready."

"Lady Dawntide," Calroth said as he stood, "I want to thank you, all of you, for your aid and your generosity."

"It was my honour and duty," Misara told him.

Calroth turned towards Rowan. "Lady Jassan, I also offer you the village's thanks for all you have done."

"You do not need to thank us," Rowan told him as she got to her feet.

"And yet I must."

"We should be leaving." Rowan handed her mug of ale to an old man who sat by the fire. "Thank you for your hospitality."

Olpara finished whatever was in her mug and then got to her feet.

"I wish you well on your journey ladies," Kirksin said. "Perhaps we will meet again."

"Perhaps."

"Let me see you on your way," he got up. "Stedd, come along."

"Of course," the younger man said, smiling.

"Goodbye Headman Calroth. May your ways be green and golden."

"Thank you Lady Dawntide. Chauntea watch over you." He bowed deeply to her.

"Farewell Headman Calroth," Rowan told him.

"Lady Jassan, the blessings of Chauntea on you as well." He bowed to her.

Misara turned and left, knowing that stretching out their farewells would only make the man that much more uncomfortable.

Kirksin stopped when they reached the paddock where the horses were kept. "I do hope that we meet again. Perhaps when you are finished with whatever quest you are on now you might search me out."

"Perhaps," Misara said, but did not think she would.

"Well enough." Kirksin stopped. "Fare thee well."

She, Rowan and Olpara said their farewells to Kirksin and Stedd. The three women gathered up their horses and gear and then went to board the skiffs that were waiting for them.

* * *

Cirtimin entered Asharass' chamber, leaning over, shuffling forward on his staff.

"You have news Cirtimin?" Asharass asked, her voice coming for directly in front of him.

He looked up, a little surprised by the immediacy of her voice. He found himself looking into the red eyes of Asharass. He stumbled and almost fell.

"Careful," she advised. "It would not do if you hurt yourself."

"You are too kind to be concerned with me, Lady Asharass." He bowed his head down.

"You are valuable to me," she told him, "and thus I am concerned. Now, what is it you came to tell me?"

Cirtimin looked up and saw she had moved away from him. She was standing in profile. Her long, red hair nearly swept the dusty floor and her flawless, pale skin seemed to almost glow in the darkness of the room.

"The orc, Kesk Hornskull, has failed," he said, not allowing thoughts of the body to make him foolish. "He is dead. Killed by Misara Anor'Esira."

"I see," she said. There was nothing in her tone of voice, in the way she stood, that gave away what she was thinking.

"I am still searching for other enemies that we might turn against her, but it is proving," he paused, "difficult."

"Too many of her enemies are dead I suppose. She is wise in that."

"There are some cultists in..."

"Do not bother any longer with this Cirtimin."

"My lady?"

"It may have been a mistake to avoid moving directly against her. I thought it prudent, but..." And she shrugged her shoulders. "So far I think she searches after information, but she has not found it. She is chasing after something that she learned in Candlekeep I think. It may be that she finds nothing. I will watch her and as long as she stays far from here I will not waste any more of my time or resources with her.

"I want you to aid Onica. She needs assistance, and we are close to the end of this. Soon the elf will not matter," Asharass told him.

"Yes my lady."

"You have done excellent work Cirtimin. The fault is not yours. Go, help Onica, and get some rest."

"Yes my lady," he said, and bowed his head low.

When he looked up there was no sign of Asharass.

He turned and left, promising himself that he would give Onica all the help she might require. This time he would make certain that things were accomplished as Asharass wanted.


	24. Into Grey Mist Keep

**Chapter 24 - Into Grey Mist Keep**  
by Shawn Hagen

The night before the Silver Blade had been full of guests, music, and merriment.

Misara, Rowan and Olpara had arrived in Yarthrain early the previous day's afternoon. They might have left immediately, both Misara and Rowan had considered it, but in the end they decided to rest for one night. Not that they had managed to get that much rest. They were not the only guests that the Silver Blade had hosted.

A group of adventurers had made the village of Yarthrain their base of operations and were at the inn the previous night. They had coin, taken from some hidden place, to spend and were generous with it.

Another group, young nobles and other idle rich, from Waterdeep had come to the Backlands to hunt monsters of one type or another. They were generous as well, and had brought a good deal of ale, wine and spirits with them.

Then there were the six men and women who had crossed the Backlands, travelling from the Stormhorns of Cormyr to Yarthrain. They claimed to be treasure hunters, but Misara had suspected they were Purple Dragon Knights. She had not asked what mission had brought them there.

There had been others as well, a few merchants and a lone traveller or two.

They had filled the Inn, crowding the central part with their bodies and high spirits. Musicians, some of who were actually talented, had played, and people had danced, ate and drank: A few did all three at once.

Misara had thrown herself into the celebrations, hoping to lose herself in the moment, to forget, if for the moment, her loss.

That had been the night before.

Today Misara, Rowan and Olpara rode alone through the Backlands, wary and watching for danger. Misara often looked towards Rowan's back, thinking that she must talk to the other woman. Rowan needed to know what had happened to her. She needed to know because she expected Misara to have the strengths of a Paladin, but Misara could no longer call upon those strengths.

Rowan needed to know, for all their safety.

And yet Misara could not tell her. She feared how Rowan might act when she learned of her loss of grace. More than anything she feared that when she told Rowan she would see pity in the eyes of the other woman. She did not think that she could take such a thing.

So she said nothing and felt like a coward.

Instead she tried to focus on the area about them, though her mind was caught up in inner turmoil.

There were many monsters about and many times the group saw signs of the beasts: Tracks, scat, the remains of something ripped apart. A few times they actually spotted the monsters, or were spotted by them.

At other times Misara and Rowan would have been quite willing to engage the creatures, but time was of the essence, and Misara's mind was on other things. Only one creature that spotted them actually attacked. A large hill-giant ran towards them, hurling a large rock in their direction as it did.

Rowan and Rose Thorn charged the giant. Misara followed some distance behind, having been unaware of the giant's presence until Rowan acted. She pulled her sword free of its sheath, ready to give Rowan any assistance she might need. Olpara seemed frozen on her horse. The giant lashed out at Rowan with its huge club, but Rowan avoided the blow and rode by the giant, her sword cutting a fatal wound into its gut. The giant fell forward onto its knees, its lifeblood pouring from the wound. Misara put the giant out of its misery, cutting it head from its shoulders and ending its life quickly.

They continued on, leaving the corpse behind them.

It was late afternoon when they found the hill that Greysom had told Misara about. She scouted the lightning shaped crevice and the hill, making certain that no monsters had taken up residence in the area. She found nothing.

"Let's go," Misara said as she returned to where Olpara and Rowan waited.

"What about the horses?" Olpara asked.

"Strip their gear and let them go. We'll find them when we leave."

"Wait. While your horses might be that smart, well, Berry is just a horse."

"Rose Thorn will keep an eye on Berry," Rowan told the halfling.

Olpara looked doubtful, but she did as Misara had suggested. They hid anything they would not be taking with them. Once everything had been taken care of they climbed down the crevice, into the hill.

The sides of the crevice were very steep, and it was a distance of about three or four man heights to the uneven, stone and dirt floor. Misara looked around, the shadowy twilight in the crevice as bright as day to her. "This way, watch the floor," she said, leading the way.

A number of creatures lived in the crevice, insects and rodents mostly. None of them were particularly dangerous, though a centipede the size of Misara's arm was threatening enough that the elf crushed its head under her boot heel.

After several minutes Misara found an opening deeper into the hill. It was not an open crevice, but a rough tunnel, something that looked like it had been carved by the passage of water and perhaps the shifting the rock and soil of the hill.

"Never a dwarf when you need one," Misara said, looking into the dark tunnel.

"Do you think its safe?" Rowan asked, crouching down near the narrow mouth of the opening.

"How would I know?"

Olpara moved up beside Rowan. "It looks like the stone may have provided some natural bracing."

Rowan and Misara looked at the halfling. Olpara simply shrugged her shoulders. "I have some dwarven friends. They like talking about mining and tunnels."

"Good enough," Misara said, and she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. She climbed into the hole, sliding into the tunnel and crawling forward on her hands and knees.

She could hear Rowan and Olpara following. From behind her came a bright light, illuminating the tunnel for some distance ahead of her. Given a choice Misara would have preferred it remained dark, but she did not object.

For a while she could only crawl forward, watching small insect forms move through the dirt. There were larger things on the edge of the light, but they scurried away and she did not think that any of them would be of any real danger.

Then the tunnel widened, allowing her to stand up. She turned and looked around as Rowan and Olpara came into the area. There was a nearly flat wall to her right, with rough soil and stone on her left. She reached out and put her hand on the wall, rubbing at it. The thick coating of dirt flaked free. Curious she continued to work at it.

The layer was almost an inch thick, and when she had cleared a small patch away the light of the Olpara's sunrod glinted off glass.

Rowan looked over her shoulder. "Glass?"

"A window I guess," Misara told her. "Enchanted to be strong as stone." She looked along the flat wall. "This entire section might be a series of huge windows, to allow light into the keep's garden."

"So we found it."

Misara nodded. "Let's go find the main doors."

They followed the tunnel that ran near the wall, coming to a corner of the keep after a short time. The interior of the hill was farther from the keep on that side of the structure, allowing Misara and the others to see more of it.

The grey stone keep, what they could see of it, was a fragile looking structure, however Misara knew there was strength within that stone that belied its appearance. It would be a single structure, she though, with high walls and towers. She suspected there would be many windows, like the ones they had passed by earlier. It had likely been very beautiful when it had been above the ground.

They made their way to the front gates. Misara had expected to find them sealed, as they had been described, but the huge portals of enchanted-steel were thrown wide open.

"I thought you said they would be closed," Rowan said.

"They should be," Misara told her. She looked about. "Something has opened them."

The light around them dimmed slightly. Misara looked over at Olpara and saw that the halfling was wrapping the glowing end of her sunrod with a leather binding. "Wise action," she told the halfling, and then turned back towards the door.

One of the doors was slightly warped, and it looked as if the top hinge of that door had been pulled partially from the stone. She moved closer to the doors, reaching out to put her hand on the one that was warped.

Closer she could see the damage that marred the door, and there were burns on the steel. Powerful magic, but it would have had to be very controlled to have avoided bringing down the hill. She looked through the doors into the area beyond.

It was a large space, with a domed ceiling high above. Likely the dome was made up of enchanted glass. There were piles of rock and dirt within the courtyard, and above the piles she could see the dome was marred. Had it been damaged when the doors had been forced, she wondered, or was there some other reason?

"What do you think?" Rowan asked, her voice low.

"I'm not certain." Misara knelt down and looked at the floor, sifting through some of the detritus on the ground in front of the gates. "Something entered this place."

"Is there anything of value in there?"

"There should not be." She stood and moved to the other door. It was covered in elvish: fine, scrolling characters that had carved into the steel. "Some of the history is written here. Sealing and hiding this keep was planned. Nothing of any real value would have been left behind. If they left the Historian as Vilis thinks then it is because they did not know of his value, or they did not consider him worth their time."

"Perhaps it is the keep itself, or the Historian."

"Perhaps." Misara moved to stand in the doorway. "What do you know of Phaerimm?"

"Phaerimm?" Rowan said, and if testing the word. "I've heard the word, some kind of creature of evil I think."

"They are," she paused, "dangerous. They have the ability to," again she paused, "drain, eat, whatever, the power of some of certain magic, wards. I thought that most had been dealt with, but, perhaps..."

"You think one of these phaerimm are here?"

"How dangerous are they?" Olpara asked. She had moved close.

"The damage to the dome, the cracks in the floor, it is almost like the passage of centuries are suddenly making their weight felt on this place. That could suggest that the wards placed here have been diminished, perhaps completely drained.

"As to how dangerous they are," she looked to Olpara, "they are powerful magicians, and capable fighters well. They are very dangerous."

"We don't even know if one is here," Rowan said.

"No, we don't. And we have a reason for being here." She drew her sword. "Keep close and stay quiet." She stepped through the gate and into the keep. As soon as she entered the structure she felt a familiar, if faint, sense of warmth and goodwill. There was, however, an undercurrent there that felt wrong. Not only had the wards been weakened, they may have been corrupted as well.

She shivered slightly, but only for a moment. Squaring her shoulders she kept moving forward, unwilling to allow dread to slow her.

The muted light from Olpara's wrapped sunrod was enough for Misara to see clearly. The floor was cracked, as were the walls, and she could see parts of the interior walls had partially collapsed. The keep could no longer be structurally sound, such damage had to have weakened it considerably. How long could it last with the weight of the hill on it?

Their were several doors that led from the chamber, but Misara continued on straight, towards the largest set of doors, set off centre so they were not directly in line with the gates. Those doors were also thrown open, one of them partially torn off its hinges.

"It must have come this way," Olpara said quietly.

Misara thought that likely, but she knew which way she needed to go. She walked through the doors, entering a wide corridor. Part of her wanted to run down the corridor, but she kept her pace controlled, watching for signs of ambush or traps.

She felt as if she were being watched. As she looked into the shadowy doorways she expected to see movement within the shadows. The farther she walked the more the feeling grew, and part of her would have welcomed conflict.

The corridor continued, perhaps passing all they way through the keep, but Misara stopped where another corridor crossed the one they were in.

She had been in a keep like Grey Mist before, on Evermeet, near Leuthilspar. It had been empty, for the most part, but not completely abandoned. She had her friends had explored it, purely for entertainment, annoying the handful of soldiers who lived there.

After a moment she turned left and started down the other corridor. It was narrower than the first, and there were fewer doors along its length. It did not feel as ominous as the other.

At the end of the hall was a set of double doors. They were closed.

"What's in there?" Rowan asked softly.

"The library I think," Misara told her. "If the Historian was anywhere, he would have been here."

"What if he's not in there?" Olpara asked.

It was a good question, but Misara did not have a good answer to it. She stepped forward and put her hand against one of the doors. It swung open soundlessly. Misara stepped in. The large, octagonal room was empty, but for dust and a few statues.

Above her were two, partial floors, and the ceiling was domed glass. It would have once been filled with shelves, full of scrolls and books, and various magical archives. Now there was nothing there but for a few statues. It all seemed to have held up better than the entryway of the keep.

Rowan and Olpara had followed her in. She heard one of them close the doors.

"What are we looking for?" Rowan asked her.

"I don't know. I suppose we'll know when and if we find it."

Misara walked into the very centre of the room. She turned in place, looking about, trying to spot something that would tell her where the Historian was. Vilis had only told her that he would be there, not how he would manifest.

Rowan climbed a set of stone steps along the wall. Olpara followed close behind her.

Misara walked to a small stage opposite to the doors. On either side of the stage were two elven statues, made of the same grey stone as the keep. They were not of any of the gods, nor did she recognise them as any of the great, elven heroes of that time.

She stood on the stage, looking about, trying to picture the library as it had once been. Where would something like the historian be placed?

"Misara," Rowan called from above her.

Misara looked up and saw Rowan looking down at her from the third floor. Rowan made a 'come here' gesture.

Quickly Misara climbed the stairs to where Rowan awaited her.

"Olpara pointed this out," Rowan told her, leading her towards where the halfling stood.

Once she got closer she did not have to ask what Olpara had discovered. Tucked into a small corner was another statue, but where the others had been made of grey stone the one that Olpara stood in front of was made of a black marble.

The statue was of a tall, male elf. There was little detail to it, the face nearly a flat plane. Something had been carved across the chest, so faint as to be almost indecipherable. Misara reached out and brushed her fingers across it, wiping away the thin layer of dust. It was elvish writing.

Olpara shifted the leather bindings on her sunrod and then moved the light closer.

"Call me forth and I shall answer," Misara read. The elvish was a very old form. "I am but a servant to all who would ask."

"How do you call it forth?" Olpara asked.

Misara stood back from the statue. "Come forth. I have questions." She said.

A moment later an elven man stood amongst them. His skin was darker than even that of the wild elves, but not the black of the drow, and his hair was dark and straight. "You have called me," he said.

"I have," Misara told him.

"Ask your questions. I am bound to answer them."

Misara looked about, and then said, "You have been here for a very long time."

"That is so," he said, his tone of voice sad.

"I would like to take you elsewhere. Where you might serve your purpose, perhaps end your curse."

An expression of surprise appeared on his face for a moment. "You would do that for me?"

"I would."

He looked confused. "Forgive me. None have ever given much consideration to me. I am not certain what to do."

"I have questions for you," Misara told him, "but they can wait. Right now I wish to leave this place."

He turned and looked at the stature. He placed his hand over its chest; it rested over the word 'servant'. "One of the Tel'Quessir may break this chamber and take out the stone that calls me forth."

Misara nodded. "Go now. I will call you again."

He nodded, and a look of consternation crossed his face. "Please," he said, almost as if he were in pain, "do not forsake me." Then he was gone.

"He was pained," Rowan said.

Misara grabbed the corner of her cloak and put it against the statue's chest to pad it. "There are some that might say he deserves to be." She slammed her fist into the statue, the material of her cloak muffling the sound.

"Do you?"

Misara hit the statue again and she heard a crack. "I don't know why he was punished like this, but I do not believe that he was given his punishment lightly." Once more she hit the statue, and she felt her fist break through.

She pulled her cloak away, small bits of marble rained down, revealing a space within the statue. Something sparked within, a soft green glow lighting the cavity. Misara reached in and pulled forth what looked a little like an emerald. It was the size of her fist and the radiance seemed to increase as she touched it. It was warm.

As soon as she had brought it forth there was a loud, booming sound from somewhere in the keep, and then from somewhere closer came a barking sound.

Misara cursed as she put the stone into her belt pouch.

"What is it?" Olpara asked, her voice panicked.

Rowan spoke a word and her sword began to glow.

"It was watching us before. Now we have something that interests it." Misara turned and started towards the stairs. "We have to run."

"What was watching us?" Olpara asked.

"No time," Misara said, not looking back.

Olpara would slow them, Misara thought as she leapt down the stairs. Without her she and Rowan would be more likely to escape. Without Rowan Misara was certain that she could win free. It was just a thought, the simple facts of the matter, nothing that she would act on for she would not abandon comrades.

As she reached the floor the doors into the library flew open and two, large creatures entered. They were tall, with wide shoulders and thick limbs, their faces like that of a cat, their fur a dirty white. Both wore tattered armour, one carrying a heavy mace and the other holding a great sword.

Misara charged them, slamming her shoulder into the one with the mace, knocking it back into its companion. As both fell she stabbed forward, her sword cutting deep into the neck of the one she had hit. As its blood fountained from the wound Rowan moved in, her sword slashing down to kill the second.

"Quaggoths," Misara said to Rowan's unasked question. "They are quick and ferocious. Kill them quickly, for wounded they go berserk."

"I understand," Rowan told her. Behind her Olpara was looking through the pouch at her belt, bringing forth bit and pieces of the items she needed for her spells.

"Let's go," Misara said.

They moved down the corridor as quickly as they could without leaving Olpara behind. Misara could hear the barking, snarling of the quaggoths as they communicated. And under that, fainter, was a sound like the wind.

They were getting close to where the corridor they were in crossed with the main corridor. The sounds the quaggoths made grew louder and a mass of the creatures came around the corner, filling the narrow corridor and charging towards them.

In a way their numbers worked against them. Only two could stand abreast in the corridor, and the weight of the ones behind them actually hampered the ones in front. Misara and Rowan, standing side to side, easily killed several. Then the ones behind began to fall back a little, giving the ones in front more room. It took a little time for them to do so, and there was a glassy look in their eyes. Misara suspected they were under the influence of some kind of mind control magic.

Misara looked at the bodies in front of her and wondered if she and Rowan could cut through the plug in time to get clear. Was that what the quaggoths were for, to slow her escape, or was their another purpose?

She parried the blow of the quaggoth she fought, and then stepped back. It moved forward after her, right into Rowan's blade, Misara moved forward, her sword piercing the other one's chest. Together she and Rowan stepped forward, working in concert, killing two more of the beasts in but a few heartbeats.

Then Olpara cried out, "There are more behind us."

Another group of quaggoths had come out of one of the side doors, the ones in front were already moving forward.

"I'll hold them off," Rowan said, knocking a flail aside before she turned. Misara moved to protect Rowan as she retreated, and to fight both quaggoths.

"We can go through here," Olpara yelled.

Misara slashed her blade back and forth in front of her forcing the two quaggoths to back up a few steps. She took a quick look over her shoulder and saw that Olpara had opened another door, was partway through it.

Rowan was standing in the corridor looking towards the doorway and the quaggoths that were coming towards her. She appeared torn as what to do.

Misara silently cursed the easy way in which the followers of Sune fell in love and the cowardice of Olpara. "Follow her," Misara yelled. "We'll hold the door." It was, at the moment, the best thing to do. Misara was not happy about it, but she would have to find a way to make it work.

She backed off, fighting the quaggoths as she did so. Rowan stayed near the door, facing the second group of the beasts. Rowan went through the door first, followed a moment later by Misara.

As soon as they were in Olpara pushed the door closed and then spoke words of magic, sprinkling gold dust on the door. "There," she said, "they won't be coming through that."

Of all the spells that halfling might cast, Misara thought as she looked about the room. She was not certain what purpose the room had served long ago, but there were other doors out of it. She picked one at random and opened it. Beyond was a large room, square in shape, with several doors leading from it. "This way," she said. Perhaps they might find a way back to the main corridor.

She ran into the room, the other two following her, and to the door she thought might take them the way she wished to go. She tried to open it, but the door was locked. Rowan had tried another door and it opened for her. "This way?"

Misara looked over at her, and the door she had opened. Olpara stood near Rowan, looking as if she were ready to run. It appeared as if the door would take them farther into the keep, but Misara could hear the quaggoths pounding on the spell sealed door behind them and decided that it was the best choice, at the moment.

That was the problem, she thought, as she ran to the door. She was being forced to make the best choices she could in a bad situation.

The three women ran into another corridor, Misara tried doors that looked as if they would lead the way she wanted to go. They were all locked. The doors that were not locked led them deeper into the keep. Misara realised they were being herded towards some place, by the doors and the cries of the following quaggoths.

So be it, she thought. She had planned to avoid battle with whatever laired in the keep, but more so to protect Olpara than fear of the fight. That was no longer a choice. An uncharitable part of her thought that Olpara's panic and cowardice were going to get the halfling what she deserved, but Misara really did not want any harm to come to her.

The trap, when it came, caught Misara by surprise, even though she had been expecting something to occur. They entered a small room and Misara had crossed halfway into it, Rowan not far behind, when the floor fell out from under them. She tossed herself to the side and managed to grab hold of part of the remaining floor. Instead of falling to a hard landing she ended up dangling two body lengths above the floor below.

Rowan had not been so lucky. She had fallen straight down, and had hit the floor hard. Olpara had managed to leap back, and stood safely above.

The sound she had heard earlier, the sound like wind blowing, was louder. Misara turned her attention away from Olpara and Rowan and looked towards the sound. The room was brightly lit and the phaerimm below made no attempt to hide.

It was a strange looking creature, looking something like a cone made from green cloth, with an oval head at the wide end. Its large mouth was full of teeth. It had four clawed-arms that surrounded it head.

She was certain that it was watching her and the others, taking enjoyment in their fear and their pain. That was one of the things she had learned of the creatures. They enjoyed inflicting pain.

Misara let go of her hold on the floor, dropping to the carpet below. The impact jarred her bones, but she managed to roll and bleed of some of the force. She came up thirty or forty feet from the phaerimm, staring across the distance at it. It floated above the ground, watching her.

As she charged it she took note of the room around her. It was gaudily decorated, reminding her of nothing so much as a Calimshan brothel. The rich furnishings clashed with the torture devices, some of which were occupied by the bodies of the phaerimm's victims. There were also some dead bodies lying about the room.

Nothing within the room seemed to be a threat so she returned her full attention to the phaerimm. She wanted to kill it quickly, before it could use the impressive array of spells that such creatures usually had.

Its voice spoke within her mind, **'Serve me, bow down to me.'**

The weight of the magic behind the command hit her almost like a physical force, and she stumbled slightly, but she fought off the domination. In five steps she had closed the distance between her and the evil creature and she swung her sword at it.

The phaerimm was deceptively agile, and bobbed away from the blow. Misara carried through with her attack, calling on her sword's ability to dispel magical energies. For a moment she feared that Ree'anor might not answer her call, but she felt its response and knew that the sword still served her. The phaerimm fell, hitting the ground with a loud 'thump'. It angry mind-voice echoed in her head and promised pain and death.

It clawed at her, but that attack was likely made only to distract her. Its long, tapered tail snapped forward, over it head, like a whip. Misara leapt back to avoid the poison stinger, knocking the tail aside with her blade, cutting it.

The phaerimm lifted one of its hands, pointing it at Misara. A moment later a bolt of lightning flashed from its fingers, straight at her. She tried to dodge aside, but she was too close, and the bolt hit her. **'Die**,' she heard it say in her mind.

There were magics worked into her armour that offered her protection. The spell did not kill her, as it might anyone else, but still lifted her up and hurled her across the room. She hit the far wall hard, her breath knocked from her lungs, and then slid to the floor. Small bits of stone from the keep fell down on her.

If the thing hurled a few more spells like that it might bring the keep down.

It rose off the ground darted over to a table pushed against the wall. From the table it picked up four swords. Misara had seen that the creatures did not care much for physical combat, but the one she now fought obviously wanted to be ready for such conflict. It spun about and began floating forward, to where Rowan lay. Misara tried to get to her feet, but for the moment her body did not seem to want to do as she wished.

She saw Olpara kneeling on the floor near Rowan. Had the halfling leapt down to help, or had she fallen down? For all Misara knew Olpara might be under the control of the phaerimm and was in the process of killing Rowan.

With her left hand Misara reached under her armour, feeling for a pendant that she wore around her neck. Her hand closed on it, the smooth metal growing cold in her hand as she whispered the arcane phrases that would release the magic within. She got onto her knees, a wave of dizziness making her feel as if she might vomit. As the metal in her hand crumbled to dust, its power spent, the teleportation spell was cast.

She appeared directly above the phaerimm, her sword pointing down at it.

Again she called on the blades ability to dispel magic. The phaerimm fell to the floor, and Misara landed atop it, her sword biting deep. The creature quickly rolled to the side, throwing her off of its back. She came up on her knees and stabbed forwards at it, but the short sword it carried in one hand snapped out to block her attack.

It rolled the other way, putting distance between them. Misara, ready for another spell, dodged to the side, moving away from Rowan and Olpara.

The phaerimm swung towards her even as it lifted from the floor. From the hand that held a scimitar a cone of blinding colour flashed out, catching Misara on the edge of the spray. The bright lights pained her eyes and brought on a headache, but did not slow her. Still, she chose to act as if spell had effected her, and stumbled back, lashing out with her sword as if blinded.

Her opponent rose up and flew directly at her, the swords in its hands weaving out a deadly pattern. Misara made a clumsy sweep, setting up her sword for a surprise stroke that would take one of the phaerimm's arms off.

A moment before the phaerimm would come in range it rose into the air, passing high over her head, not even trying to make a sword attack. Instead it attacked with a spell that sent a curtain of fire down at her.

Misara threw herself forward, feeling the heat of the fire wash across the back of her legs. As she came up in a low crouch she realised that the creature was playing with her. The phaerimm was no easy opponent.

She looked over to where Rowan had fallen. She was getting to her feet, helped by Olpara. She looked back to the phaerimm, watched as it slowed and turned to face her. She had to get it on the ground, to hold there so that she and Rowan might finish it off.

However it would be unlikely to risk getting so close so that she might dispel its magic once more.

Rowan stood and called out, "Sune, aid me!" She charged forward. As she did so she multiplied and there were four of her.

The phaerimm shifted its head toward her. Misara pulled a dagger free from her belt and hurled it at the creature. She watched as the short sword flashed out and knocked the dagger away.

From the hand holding the long sword a series of magical bolts flashed out. Three of the images of Rowan winked out as soon as the bolts hit them, and Rowan herself, hit by two, stumbled slightly. She regained her balance and continued to charge forward.

Misara moved at the phaerimm as well, whispering a prayer as she did so. The symbol of the crescent moon she wore between her breasts grew warm and as she flung out her left hand a long sword of spiritual energy appeared, speeding directly at the phaerimm.

The spiritual sword slashed at the beast. The short sword rose up, as if in an attempt to parry. The short sword could not stop the spell but as soon as the blade contacted the flesh of the phaerimm the spiritual sword disappeared. Misara was not surprised. She had seen spells cast by powerful elven wizards fail to affect phaerimm. It did not matter, however. All that mattered was that short sword had been moved away from Rowan.

Rowan's sword lashed out. The phaerimm tried to parry with its long sword and falchion, but is seemed less adept with those blades. Rowan's blade bit deep into the creature, between the arms on its right side. Blood flowed from the wound and the lower of its right arms fell limp, the falchion slipping from its fingers to the ground.

Snapping from behind it, the Phaerimm's tail lashed forward, directly at Rowan. Rowan shifted to the side, ready to parry, but the tail was stopped short a few feet from Rowan. Misara could see Olpara standing nearby, her fingers moving as she cast some spell.

Misara came up on the other side of the long beast, her sword leading, but the phaerimm rose quickly into the air, moving away before she could dispel its magic.

The entire length of the monster quivered, and there was a sound of wind passing over its body. The noise made Misara think of someone screaming in anger. A bolt of lighting flashed down at Rowan. She managed to leap out of the way, but some of the force caught her, sending her stumbling back.

The bolt shattered the floor where it hit and the entire room shook with the force of it.

Misara ran towards the phaerimm, grabbing up its dropped falchion as she did so. The heavy sword felt light in her hands, and superbly balanced. She hurled the sword with her left hand, sending it spinning towards the monster.

The short sword whipped around to block, but the falchion hit it hard, knocking the smaller weapon aside. The blade was deflected, and spun upwards, the hilt slamming hard into the phaerimm's mouth. She watched as several teeth fell from its mouth, and it rose unsteadily into air.

"We need to bring it down," Rowan shouted.

Misara moved to stand near Rowan, facing the floating phaerimm. "It prefers to use magic. It will avoid physical combat as much as possible."

Above them the phaerimm was recovering from the blow that had momentarily knocked it senseless.

"I wish we had a bow," Rowan said.

Misara was inclined to agree. She looked back and saw Olpara moving into a shadowy corner of the room.

"It likes causing pain and fear. It will eventually go after Olpara. I'm certain of it."

Rowan's eyes grew wide with concern.

"We'll use that when the time comes. Protect her."

"I understand," Rowan said.

"Stay alive."

The phaerimm had finally recovered. From one of its outstretched hand came a projectile of liquid. Misara and Rowan managed to dodge away. The liquid hit the floor where they had stood, splashing. The stone sizzled and melted where the acid touched.

Rowan charged it, and it met her attack, parrying her blade with the short sword and then countering with the scimitar. The blade cut across Rowan's shoulder, some of it turned by the armour she wore, but as she leapt away there was blood in her arm.

Misara came in fast, trying to strike the phaerimm, but it rose quickly into the air and, beyond her reach. She grabbed a nearby chair and hurled it up at the monster.

The phaerimm responded with a wave of its hand, and the air suddenly filled with a swarm of bats. It was playing with them, Misara thought, scything her sword about to chase off the bats, wincing in pain as tiny, sharp teeth found exposed skin. She had no idea how long it would be before it tired of the game. She had to kill it before then.

It dove down towards Rowan, trading blows with her, again managing to wound her before lifting into the air, out of Misara's reach. She could hear it laughing in her head. It was enjoying itself.

The pattern repeated itself several times, the phaerimm focusing its attention on hurting Rowan, almost as if it planned to take her apart slowly, piece by piece, and casting a variety of minor, annoying spells.

It also worked them further apart, making it difficult for one to aid the other. Misara was pushed farther and farther from Rowan as she was forced to avoid the spells it threw at her.

Thick webbing suddenly formed around Misara, the many layers holding her and trapping her. The phaerimm hurled a small, flaming sphere at Rowan, and she leapt out of the way, ducking behind an iron maiden to avoid the spell.

She had Rowan had been pushed to nearly opposite sides of the room, far from each other, and far from Olpara. Even as Misara called on her swords power to dispel the webs about her she knew that Olpara was the phaerimm's next target. Almost eagerly it flew forward, towards the halfling, its swords slashing the air in front of it.

Olpara tried to defend herself. Bolts of arcane energy flew from the halfling's hands only to splash harmlessly against the phaerimm. The halfling, seeing her spells would have no effect, froze, staring at the oncoming monster.

Misara started across the floor, knowing she would never reach the phaerimm before it had killed Olpara.

Rowan stood up from behind the iron maiden. In her hands she held a scroll, her mouth moving as she read the words on it. Misara recalled the scrolls she had taken from Kesk, and the ones she had given to Rowan. If Rowan was casting the spell that Misara thought she might... She had to hope.

Rowan finished casting the spell, the scroll dropping from her hands.

Misara ran towards the phaerimm, shifting her course slightly so she was running towards a piece of torture equipment.

The phaerimm flew forward, apparently unconcerned or unaware of Rowan's actions.

Between the phaerimm and Olpara appeared a curtain of blades, slashing and spinning. The phaerimm flew right into them. The magic that called up the blades must have been powerful, for they did not fade, but cut deep into the monster's head.

It screamed, its voice a telepathic projection that made Misara feel as if someone was screaming in her ear. The phaerimm retreated from the blades, blood dripping from the many cuts that covered the front of its body.

Misara leapt forward, landing on the rack, which was occupied by the stretched and broken body of a bugbear. Her foot almost slipped in a patch of gelled blood, but she kept her balance and launched herself into the air, towards the phaerimm. It was, for the moment, blinded by the pain, and it did not move to counter her.

The tip of her sword bit into its body. She struck near the top of her leap so did not have the force to drive it deeper. But that was not what Misara wanted. With her blade in contact with it she dispelled the magic about the phaerimm. The phaerimm began to drop. It tried to shift its ungainly weight about, but Misara held onto the sword and when her feet touched the ground she shifted the blade so it remained directly under the monster.

Misara bent at her knees, staying under it for far too long. She released her hold on the hilt and threw herself to the side at the last moment. The huge body fell across her left leg, the weight crushing her limb, perhaps even breaking it.

The phaerimm came off much worse.

Its weight had driven the entire length of Ree'anor's blade into its body.

The telepathic scream was so loud that Misara thought for a moment her head might explode. The phaerimm twisted about, its hands desperately trying to grasp the hilt of the sword that had pierced it through.

As it thrashed about it flung spells about, bolts of lightning that slammed into the walls and blasted chunks of stone out of the wall, and a ball of fire that rose straight up to explode in the room above. The entire Keep shook. The monster rolled away from her, off her leg, right into the curtain of spinning and slashing blades.

The telepathic scream was cut short.

Misara watched, with sick fascination, as the blood sprayed from the barrier of blades. Her sword was thrown out of the mess, hit the ground, and slid to a stop near her hand. Perhaps Celeb was right about Ree'anor coming back to her no matter what she might do.

For a moment the room was silent, but for the soft clicking and whirring sound the blades made. Misara could feel blood running from her nose and her head ached.

Then the keep shook and bits of stone rained down on them as cracks appeared in the walls.

"Olpara, are you alright?" Rowan ran across the room, towards the halfling.

Misara was about to put her hands on her leg, but instead reached into her belt pouch and removed a potion vial. She broke the wax seal and twisted the stopper free. She drank the potion. The pain in her leg faded, as did the sting of the many minor wounds she had taken during the fight.

She got to her feet, picking up her sword as she did so. She wiped the blood from it with her cloak, which took quite a bit of work. The keep rumbled again.

"We have to get out of here," Rowan said as she came around the curtain of blades. "This place looks like it will come down any moment."

Misara knelt down and picked up the scimitar that the phaerimm had dropped. She whispered a prayer that would allow her to see magic. The scimitar began to glow. "We will." She opened her belt pouch and dropped the scimitar into it. The long sword, also magic, went into the belt pouch as well.

The keep shook again, and somewhere far off there was a crashing sound.

She picked up the short sword and carried it over to where Olpara and Rowan stood. "Take this," Misara said, giving sword to Olpara. "You might find it useful."

Olpara stared at the sword as if she was not certain what it was. "Thank you," she said after a moment.

Misara waved off the 'thank you' as she crossed the room, towards a chest. "Get anything that looks magical. Something will eventually dig this place up. I'd rather not leave anything too dangerous here."

"Do we have time?" Rowan asked her. As if to give her words weight, the structure once more trembled.

"Work fast," Misara told her.

The room was full of magical items: scrolls, wands, staffs, jewellery, and other things. Misara grabbed as much as she could, for the most part ignoring the simple gold and jewels. She said a quick prayer so that she might see the taint of evil as well as magic. Those items that had the stain of evil she threw into the centre of the room. A helm, a dagger, a whip, several scrolls, even a chair, all went into the growing pile. Rowan added a number of things as well. Whenever Misara looked towards the pile the miasma of evil about them made her eyes hurt.

Finally they had finished. Rowan and Olpara carried sacks, made from sheets taken from a bed, full of magical items, and no doubt a few other things. Misara herself had taken a few trophies as well as things of beauty.

The shaking of the keep had increased while they had rapidly worked. Misara wondered if perhaps staying might prove to be a mistake. She ran to where the phaerimm had died, the barrier of blades had faded, leaving only blood and the monster's savaged body. Misara found its hands, two of them no longer attached to the body, and pulled the rings it had worn from its fingers, putting them into her belt pouch. The pouch, she noted, was near full.

"Let's go," Rowan said, starting towards the door.

"A moment more," Misara told her, running to the pile of evil objects. She drew her sword.

"What are you doing?" Rowan called from the door.

Misara did not answer. She lifted her sword and brought it down on the helm, sundering it with a single blow. The chair followed, reduced to splinters with only a few strikes.

She crushed a cup under her heel; she tossed the scrolls into a nearby brazier and watched them burn. In the end there were only a few things left that she could not destroy: a necklace; a ring; an arm bracelet; and a pair of large, hoop earrings. Those items she scooped up and put into a small pouch, tied to her weapon belt.

She ran towards the exit where Rowan and Olpara stood.

"I hope that was time well spent," Rowan said.

"As do I."

They left the room, entering a narrow corridor, lined with doors. "Straight. Look for stairs," Misara called out.

Again Olpara slowed them down, but Misara used the extra time to try to get her bearings. The keep from long ago had been laid out in a similar pattern. All she had to do was remember it.

"This way," Misara called, darting down a corridor to her left.

There were stairs at the end of the short corridor. They led up into a large, rectangular room; pillars stretched several man heights above them, holding up the roof. The tremors had grown more frequent as they had run. Misara looked up, wanting to be certain that the roof was stable.

Satisfied she had a small amount of time she looked about. Where had this been in that other keep? She could not remember. What had been there? What?

"Look at this," Olpara called out. "Glass walls. This must be the wall we passed on the outside."

Misara spun around to look at Olpara. The halfling was running towards the far wall. It was all glass. Flowers. There had been flowers here in the other keep, she thought. The windows let sun in, for the garden.

She ran after Olpara, drawing her sword. Could she break the enchanted glass? Should she? It might weaken the structure further. Once more the Keep shook, and a fine rock dust fell from the ceiling. It looked as if she did not have time to worry about it.

Olpara was searching through her coat, putting her hands in the pockets.

Misara leapt forward, her sword striking the glass. There was a ringing sound and a small chip of glass broke free from the window. "We'll never get through these," she said, looking at the tiny chip.

"I'll get us through," Olpara said, and pulled from one of her coat pockets a small, leather satchel. Inside were various thieves' tools and other things, including four rings, each with a large, heavy, silver band and a different coloured stone.

Misara felt the need to run, or pound on the glass, and she really did not trust the halfling, but she watched, curious as to how Olpara planned to get through the glass.

Olpara chose the ring with the green stone. She folded the satchel shut and then put it back in her pocket. The ring she put on the pointer finger of her right hand. She placed her hand on the glass, then with the thumb of her left hand she pressed against the stone.

Misara watched for several seconds, then turned and looked at Rowan. Rowan shook her head, looking as confused at Misara felt.

Misara turned back to Olpara, about to ask what she was doing, but she noticed that the dust was falling from the glass, and she heard a sound: A soft hum. Olpara was pressing harder on the stone. The glass began to visibly shake, the edges of the window making a grating sound where they met the stone.

Misara took a step back.

The window suddenly shattered. A fine spray of glass exploded away from them and out into the dirt and rock beyond.

Olpara stumbled back, and looked as if she might fall, but Rowan caught her. "Excellent work," Rowan told her.

"Yes," Misara said, putting her earlier feelings aside. "Thank you." She put her hand on Olpara's shoulder and then moved forward, stepping out of the window and into the tunnel beyond. It was the one they had passed through before. She looked back at Olpara. "Can you run?"

Olpara nodded. "I'll be fine."

"Then let's go." Misara started down the tunnel. She looked over her shoulder to make certain that Rowan and Olpara followed. They did, but Rowan was helping Olpara, holding her up as they ran.

Misara slowed her pace, but did not begrudge Olpara that time. The halfling had got them out of the keep, and quicker than Misara might have done. And, she admitted to herself, it was a good thing they had killed the phaerimm.

The keep and the hill around it continued to shake, and far off crashes told her that it would not be long before it all collapsed.

They crawled through the small tunnel, bits of dirt falling upon them. At one point part of the tunnel fell in behind her, cutting her off from Rowan and Olpara. She squirmed around in the tunnel, crawling back so she could dig at the blockage. Soon her hand touched Rowan's, who was also digging through. Misara grabbed her hand and pulled her through. Rowan pulled Olpara through.

"Thanks for coming back," Rowan said.

"Always," Misara told her, then turned and around and continued forward.

When they finally crawled from the crevice parts of the hill had already fallen in, the keep below must have already collapsed in places. The three of them ran down the hill, and continued for some distance, until they felt certain that they were safe.

In the light of the moon and stars the three of them watched the hill collapse. When it finally stopped the top part of the hill and part of its north face had all fallen inwards. It appeared as if no one or nothing else had escaped the collapse.

None of them said anything for a time, then Olpara let the bag she carried drop to the ground with a loud clank. She settled down cross-legged and opened the bag. "They might just be able to built that ship now," she said as she pulled a large ruby from within.

"Let's hope so," Rowan said, also sitting on the ground.

Misara wondered what they were speaking about, but only for a moment. She reached into her belt pouch and pulled the green stone out. It seemed to glow brighter in the moon and starlight. "Let's hope that this is what we need."


	25. The Tale of Asharass

**Chapter 25 - The Tale of Asharass**  
by Shawn Hagen 

The tall hill offered a sheltered site near its crest, with trees that protected them from the weather and hid them from view. The horses were secured nearby and a small fire had been built with dry wood that hardly smoked.

Misara held the green stone in her hands, looking at the way the light of the raising sun sparkled in its depths. "We may soon have the answers we seek," she said.

"It's been a long journey, I am looking forward to finding out what this was all about." Rowan did not look up from the fire, her attention focused on a pot of water held over the flames.

"Yes. Come forth, I have questions," she called softly. A moment later the Historian stood amongst them.

He looked about and for a moment it appeared as if he might cry. "Thank you," he said to Misara.

"Sit down if you wish, or may. I have questions for you and it is time they were answered." She was a little brusque, but did not know how long he could remain, and she did not want to delay any longer.

"Of course," he said, taking a seat on a fallen log. "What is it you wish to know?"

"I seek information about someone or something called Asharass."

"Asharass. Asharass the terrible, the red, the scourge of the North, a story that would have been valuable to tell, long ago." His elvish, she noted, was not as archaic as she would have thought. Perhaps it was the nature of the magic in the curse that had been laid on him.

"There was only one Asharass?"

"Only one worth remembering."

"There was another name, Taumon. I think it is related."

He nodded. "Taumon and Asharass. They hated each other." He took a deep breath. "I rush ahead. The story starts long before even my time. It was a time when the Tel'Quessir were still new to Faerûn, when they challenged and drove back the dragons, the first to ever do so. Those actions earned our people many enemies, but they also earned us allies. Among those our people called friends in those days, one of the greatest was Taumon the Gold."

"Taumon was the greatest of the Gold Wyrms. A champion of good, and a true friend of the Tel'Quessir, with Taumon as their ally our people accomplished great things, fought off powerful enemies.

"However, even the great Wyrms are not completely immune to time, and his allies could see that soon death would claim him. Our people were not quite willing to lose such a friend and ally, and there were those that sought a way to allow him to live beyond even the great span allotted to dragons.

"Masters of magic and master craftspeople came together with the mission to create a new body for Taumon. It was to be built from Adamantine and Mithral, set with enchanted gems, many of them anchors for some of the most powerful spells ever created." The Historian sighed. "Such a work had never been matched by my time. Perhaps it never was. Taumon would have a body to suit his majestic spirit. That was their intent.

"The work was such that it brought the attention of the Wonderbringer, also called Gond, and priests of Gond came to aid in the construction. The blessings of that god went into each and every part.

"Truly Taumon would have become many times more powerful when his spirit entered the body. Who knows what our people may have accomplished with his aid."

Again he sighed. "It was not to be.

"There was another dragon, nearly the equal and completely the opposite to Taumon. She was called Asharass. A Red Wyrm who hated Taumon and had often sought his death.

"Asharass was a like a plague. She brought death and destruction with her, gloried in the deaths of all her victims. The stories of her evil and destruction are many, and she often worked to bring harm to the elves at that time, for they had stopped her plans more than once.

"She learned of the body that our people built for Taumon and she coveted it. She needed it, to best Taumon, to lay a swath of destruction across Faerûn as had never been seen. To destroy the elves that had dared to oppose her.

"So much did she desire this that she killed herself even as Taumon died, and sent her spirit rushing forward, moving to claim the body before Taumon. At the moment when Taumon and his allies should have known their greatest victory, they realised a failure that would cost them greatly. They had unleashed a great evil on the world, though they had never intended such a thing."

The Historian reached forward, picking up a stick, and poking the wood in the fire so that it burned more evenly. Misara watched him do so, noticed the pleasure that he took in such a simple thing. How long since he had last sat in front of a fire and told a story?

"There were those of the Ilythiir who would later look back at this and claim it was proof that they and the other nations of the Tel'Quessir should never work together, that the failure was the fault of the other nations. And then there were those that saw it as a lesson that we must never let evil from without come upon us unknown. I wonder if I told that story. I wonder if I told it to give credence to one argument or another?"

"You do not know?" Misara asked. There was still more to the tale he had to tell, but she was curious about what he had done to be punished so.

He shook his head. "My knowledge of myself was taken away. It is part of my punishment."

"It seems to be a harsh punishment," Rowan said.

"Who am I to say? Perhaps I do deserve what has been done. But that is not what you asked of me. The story is not finished."

He continued. "Those that had created the body were unable to destroy it, for it is said that they crafted far too well. Perhaps they were just unwilling to destroy what they had put so much effort into, however I do not think that is so. Whatever the reason, an evil was about to be set loose on the world.

"Even the Wonderbringer was unable to destroy it, they said, but he had saved his final blessing for when Taumon claimed the body. And as Asharass began to stir he laid the last blessing upon it and turned it into a curse. Greater power the construct would know, but it would never move until the day it had been anointed in the blood of a good, just god.

"So it was that Asharass, in her moment of triumph, was defeated. The body she had taken was supremely powerful, but she was trapped within it, unable to move, unable to do anything.

"The Tel'Quessir sealed the hall where the body had been built, laying powerful spells on it so none might enter. They covered it with dirt and rock, creating a small mountain where the hall had been. Guards were placed on it, but by my time the guards were needed elsewhere.

"It was felt that the hall, hidden and sealed as it was, would never be disturbed."

He sat back. "That is the end of the history as I know it."

"It seems that Asharass stirs once more. She has servants who operate in the North," Misara said.

"Then you must find those servants and destroy them, and make certain that the seals around Asharass are renewed."

"And that she does not obtain the blood of a good and just god," Rowan said.

"What does that mean?" Olpara asked. "The blood of a good and just god?"

"It may be just that," Rowan told her. "Literally the blood of a good and just god."

"If so," the Historian said, "then I think that there is little danger that Asharass will meet the Wonderbringer's requirements."

"That may not be so," Rowan told him.

"Oh?" he asked, obviously curious.

"More than a decade ago the gods themselves walked Faerûn. They were denied the heavens, so it is said, and were trapped here for a time. Some died here. Many bled. I know of several churches that collected anything that the gods may have left behind and hold them as holy treasures."

"That is disturbing. You must hope that Asharass does not obtain such things." His tone held a note on fear.

"Why does it have to be literal?" Misara asked. "What else might the blood of a god be? Does the mortal child of a god share his or her parent's blood? Would the blood of a priest, or any follower, represent the blood of a god?"

"Or of a Paladin," Rowan said.

Misara nodded.

"We lost other Paladins and priests," Rowan said, "during the time the Dark Champion was operating. We never knew what happened to them, the North is a dangerous place after all, but perhaps they were taken for their blood."

"Damos told me that several shrines and temples had had reliquaries stolen from them. The blood of saints."

"Would such things be enough?" Olpara asked.

"I do not know," Misara told her. "And I do not want to give Asharass a chance to find out."

"Where can we find Asharass?" Rowan demanded of the Historian.

"It was in the North," he told her. "Several days north of the Lost Peaks in the Great Forest."

"Somewhere near Silverymoon perhaps," Misara said.

"We must get back there," Rowan said. "We must let Damos and Alustriel know." Her voice rose and there was a note of panic in it.

Misara nodded. "We will. There is a place not too far from here, and portal that will deliver us to the middle of the Evermoors." She looked over at Olpara. "Another one will allow you to travel to a place close to Waterdeep. There you can let Blackstaff and the Paladinson know of this."

"I'm going with you," Olpara said.

"We travel next to the very centre of the Evermoors," Misara told her.

"I know. I want to go with you."

Misara looked at the halfling. She knew that Olpara had been seeking redemption since joining the quest, and before Misara had never believed that she might find it. Now there was something to her, a determination that had been lacking only a short time before, that made Misara think that Olpara could find what she was looking for. "Very well."

Olpara looked relieved.

"We should leave immediately," Rowan said.

"We'll leave in a few hours," Misara told her. "We all need some rest."

"I suppose you are right, as much as I wish to be moving," Rowan admitted. "We'll have to rest eventually, and this is a safe enough place. Safer than the Evermoors will be."

"Might I ask you something?" the Historian asked.

"If you wish," Misara told him.

He looked surprised, as if he had not expected such an answer. "I was hoping," he started after a few seconds, "if you might tell me what became of the Ilythiir. I fear that they may no longer be, that I may be the last of my people."

"You are not the last," Misara told him. "Your people have survived, even thrived in their exile."

"Truly?"

"They are now called the drow," Rowan told him. "I have heard that they have great cities deep underground. They are powerful, and live their lives in darkness. The light of the sun pains them. If they come to the surface world it is only in darkness. They are among the most evil creatures known in all of Faerûn. All good people fear them, and hate them. Their skin is black as obsidian and the hair pure white."

The Historian turned and looked towards Misara. The look in his face was one of confusion. He wanted to be told that what he had heard was not true. Misara wished she might tell him that. She wished it were not true for so many reasons. She nodded.

A look of horror passed across his face as he turned back towards Rowan. "For the part I must have played in that, I deserve a punishment a thousand times worse than what I suffer now." His voice sounded dead.

"They have lived in exile for a very long time," Misara told him. "They have lived in a very hostile place for a long time, it has made them powerful and cruel. The demands of Lolth, though you would remember her as Araushnee, hone their cruelty, making it as sharp as razors. Some say that it is only the fact that they fight amongst themselves that has kept them from taking the surface.

"I have fought them on many occasions. They are, as Rowan said, hated and feared."

The Historian's shoulders slumped and shook as he was wracked by quiet sobs.

"I have heard that some of the drow have become good," Olpara said.

He lifted his head, and Misara could tell he was looking at the halfling.

"There are tales of a drow ranger, one who has not only become a champion for good, but fights the evil of his own people. I believe that one. Wren, a friend, he died," Olpara paused for a few seconds, "on the Evermoors." She shook her head. "Wren told me that when he visited Mithral Hall that he saw the drow there, walking with the dwarves, standing out in the sun in front of the gates to the hall.

"I've also heard stories of other drow that have become good, but I do not know the truth of them," Olpara said.

"Followers of Eilistraee." Rowan looked towards Misara.

"Eilistraee?" He shifted towards Rowan. "Araushee's daughter?"

"I don't really know," Rowan told him. "You would have to ask Misara."

He turned towards her, his moves more animated, hope obvious in his face.

"Eilistraee chose, demanded they say, to go into exile with her mother and brother," Misara said, reciting the words that had been told to her long before. "She saw a time when the Ilythiir might wish to return to the surface world to live in peace, when they would need a beacon to lead them back to the people they had once been. In time she was proven right.

"Over the many centuries that followed a handful of dark elves would leave the cruelty of their underground domain. Her name was whispered among these people, told to those who might listen. Many of those dark elves that follow the path of good worship her, follow her example and draw strength from her.

"Her followers live in a world where they are hated by the drow and by all those who cannot see a dark elf as anything but evil, which is most everyone who lives on the surface. They follow a hard path.

"It was Vilis, a priestess of Eilistraee, who told me of you. It is to her that I wish to take you. It is her hope that she can help you break the curse that holds you."

"So, not all is lost for my people?"

"It is difficult to say. Vilis believes that an important time is coming for those who follow the path that Eilistraee, knowingly or not. They may flourish and one day redeem the name of their people, or they might be destroyed. I do not know which."

"I see," he said, nodding. "Then perhaps I might help. Lessons of the past often have value for the future."

"Vilis hopes that that will be the case."

"How is it that you came to know so much about dark elves who follow Eilistraee?" he asked her.

Misara was a little surprised by the question, but perhaps she had also hoping he might ask. She could see Rowan lean forward.

"Rowan asked me that question, some time ago, on the roof of Candlekeep. I told her that she did not need to know."

Rowan looked disappointed, and the Historian nodded, willing to accept her answer.

"I was wrong."

The others looked on her with surprise.

"Rowan, I wish to bring this stone to Vilis, and if I fall I ask that you or Olpara complete this task for me. You deserve to know more of how I met her. And you," she looked at the Historian, "may find value in this as well."

Rowan, Olpara and the Historian were quiet, waiting for her to speak. A piece of wood in the fire cracked, throwing a few sparks into the air.


	26. Misara's Tale

**Chapter 26 - Misara's Tale**  
by Shawn Hagen 

"I was born in the Evermeet. My family was wealthy, incredibly so. Master craftspeople and adventurers who had brought a great deal of treasure to their home, we had all we could ever want. I, like my brothers and sisters, was trained by some of the finest instructors on the island.

"My friends were like me. Privileged and arrogant young bloods, certain that we burned like the sun, and nothing would ever stand in our way. At a time when I was no longer a girl, but not quite a woman, my friends and I would spend our days in a chaotic attempt to live our lives as fast as we could.

"We met before the sun rose, and practiced our sword play. Each of us had been fencing for decades, and while none of us were blooded, we were skilled with our blades. We fenced as if we danced, and pushed ourselves as hard as we could. We were all determined to become the youngest blademaster ever.

"When the sun rose those of us who had lessons or other demands set upon us by our families would leave to attend those. Well, most of the time. We would all meet once more as soon as we could. We were hedonistic, seeking pleasures in whatever we did. We drank elverquisst by the bottle and ate the finest foods the island or any other place might offer. We sang and danced and played.

"We mastered the arts of our people. We would draw our swords and fence at the fall of a leaf. We threw targets into fast moving rivers and would fire arrows at them by moonlight, mocking anyone would could not hit the target's centre. We composed poems in hidden glades, and practiced simple magic for the simple joy of doing so.

"And when exhaustion finally took one of us we would exile that person from us for a time. We pretended we were cruel, but in the truth we all knew it was to let that person rest before someone truly got hurt."

Misara smiled and looked up into the sky. It had been sometime since she had thought back on those days. "It is funny. I have fought in battles that went on for days and they were not as exhausting as those days of my youth." She shook her head and returned her attention to her audience.

"We were, however, growing up, and all of knew that our carefree days were nearing their end. All of us knew that more awaited us. I had even, I think, begun to feel the first stirrings of my calling." Misara was careful not to sigh, as she wished to do. Had it been a true calling she had felt so long ago, or had she just convinced herself that it was?

"So we were looking for that last grand adventure of youth. Well, we were looking for a series of them really. I think it was Aravilar who proposed that we race across the sea towards the Moonshaes." Misara nodded. "Yes, Aravilar. His father had just given him a yacht; a beautiful trimaran that he was certain was as fast as the wind.

"The weather was beautiful and the sea called to us. Many of us also had yachts, so we formed a regatta and raced out from island. We were quite a sight I am sure, our colourful sails dotting the blue sea.

"I don't know if it was bad luck, or if someone had seen us leave the island and had passed that information on, or even if we were being scryed upon, but somehow we were found out by enemies.

"We did not even realise we were under attack, not until it was far too late.

"The sahuagin led the attack, swarming up onto our yachts, cutting the lines, dropping our sails to stop us. We fought back. As I said, by that time none of us were blooded, but we were all very skilled. Had it just been sahuagin I think we would have fought free and felt that it was truly a grand adventure."

Misara grew silent again, thinking about that time. It had been a long time since she had last told the story. There were reasons she did not often think back on that time.

"Something black rose out of the water, like a whale, and clouds rushed in to darken the day and hide the sun. The black thing opened up and drow swarmed from it, leaping onto our yachts.

"Sahuagin were one thing, but the drow had practiced with their weapons as long as any of us had, if not longer, and they had fought real battles. We never had a chance. They flowed among us, cutting down any that tried to meet them with steel, but most of us fell to their crossbows."

Misara put her hand to her right shoulder, remembering the sting from the dart that had pierced her. "We were all soon helpless, lying upon the decks of our yachts, unable to move. The drow raped us," she said without pause, "wanting to humiliate us before they killed us. Some of the drow pushed their blades into their victims even as they entered them, killing lust overwhelming sexual lust perhaps. They cut the heads from the dead and tossed their bodies overboard."

Her tone was even as she spoke of the rape and murder of her friends, her own rape. A century after the fact and she could speak about it in such a way. She remembered it had taken years before she could think about that day, let alone talk about it, without being reduced to tears. Years before the nightmares went away.

"The one who took me chose to draw it out. He took a great deal of pleasure in my rape. I was almost senseless from the drug within me and really felt very little." She sighed loudly. "It was his desire that saved me, in the end.

"I remember hearing screams, and the sound of wood snapping, and the drow atop me threw himself off me as something passed through the space he had just occupied. It was the sword of an ocean strider. It had swept over the decks of the yachts, scattering drow and sahuagin, cutting through the masts of our craft.

"The drow who had been raping me tried to get back to me, tried to finish me off, but the back sweep of the ocean strider's blade forced him away again, and by then the sea elves were climbing into the boats.

"The drow ran, returning to the black thing that had brought them. I think only two of the drow died, the rest escaped. More of the sahuagin were killed, but many managed to escape as well. I had survived, as had three of my friends, all for the same reason.

"The sea elves retrieved the headless bodies of our fallen friends so that they might be returned to Evermeet. We were transferred to a naval vessel and returned home. People mourned and the patrols around the island were increased for fear that the drow might strike again.

"I spent a tenday, perhaps two, in a state of shock. My wounds were healed, but for a time my mind simply did not want to deal with what had happened. I was still recovering from the trauma when I discovered I was pregnant."

Misara stood and stretched before sitting again. No one said anything. Not far off the sounds of the horses moving about were seemingly loud.

"Many people counselled me to end the pregnancy, and I must admit that I considered it as well, but," Misara paused, "I don't really know. My brother told me that perhaps I hoped to make something good come out of what had happened. Maybe he was right. Maybe the drow had taken away so much from me I was not willing to let them take anything else.

"Whatever the reason, I chose to bear the child, much to the consternation of almost everyone who knew. I was really too young, and the reason for the pregnancy, and the fact I was planning on bringing a half drow bastard into the world, well, it was no surprise everyone disapproved.

"The pregnancy was very peaceful however, and many people took that as a good sign. It was hoped that the child might be more moon elf than drow, perhaps even showing none of its father's heritage. Such things are known to happen.

"The birth was easy. The infant, my daughter, showed no sign that she had a moon elf as a parent. As I held her in my arms I heard some of my family suggesting that she be killed that instant. They were rather extreme in their views, so no one really listened to them, but many others were suggesting that the child be sent away, perhaps myself as well.

"No one asked me what to do, but then again, why would they? I had not impressed anyone in my family with my choices.

"Into that chaos came Talintiel, an ancient elf and high priest of Corellon Larethian. He was suddenly by my side. No one had seen him enter. He smiled as me as he knelt down. He reached out and traced the symbol of the crescent moon on my daughter's forehead. He spoke the blessing of Corellon Larethian over her. For a moment the room went quiet as the presence of the god filled my room." Misara remembered it all so clearly. It was as if she were describing something as it happened rather than her memory of it.

"After that no one would speak about harming my daughter, or sending her away. She had been accepted by the chief of our gods. Who would be willing to speak against that? It was then that I swore my service to Corellon Larethian; I swore it to Talintiel as the sense of the divine still lingered. He had given my daughter a future. What else could I do?" What else could I do, she asked herself. What other choice had she had?

"I named her Lindra. She was so very beautiful, perfect in every way." Misara smiled and closed her eyes.

"For a time, a year, I thought that I might simply live in the Evermeet with my daughter. People were kind enough, and no one could hate Lindra, not an infant. It was something of a foolish dream. I knew that as Lindra grew older she would become more and more isolated. I knew that she could never be truly welcome in the Evermeet, never be part of it like I had.

"It was when I was thinking such things that Talintiel came to me again. He asked me if I still wished to serve Corellon Larethian, if my oath still held me. Of course it did. He told me of Eilistraee, and her followers, and how they needed someone to help them. That they needed me.

"He was offering me the chance to serve my god, but he was also offering me a place where my daughter might live as part of a community and not an outsider.

"I left the Evermeet, travelled to the High Forest, to a small community of dark elves that were trying to live in peace on the surface world. They were besieged by their evil brethren on one side, by surface elves that saw all dark elves as evil on the other.

"That was how I came to know Vilis and the others. I spent two decades with them, helping them secure their lives, to make alliances and gain the begrudging trust of the good people that lived in the area. They gave Lindra and myself a community and a family."

Everything was quiet for a time after Misara finished her story. Even the horses seemed content to stand still.

"Thank you for telling me that," the Historian said.

"Thank you for listening."

"I must go now I think."

"Go now," Misara told him. "I will call you again."

"Thank you," he said, and then was gone.

Misara got to her feet. "Get some rest. I'll take first watch. We'll leave after we have all had some time to rest up."

"Has Lindra followed your path?" Rowan asked.

Misara looked towards her and shook her head. "She follows Eilistraee, has become one of her priestesses."

"Why did you tell us this? Why keep such a thing secret for so long only to tell this story now."

Misara moved towards the edge of the trees, looking down at the slope of the hill. "Lindra wants more from life then just be tolerated, in a small part of the High Forest. She will find that easier if she is known to be my daughter." She turned and looked at Rowan. "If other Paladins would speak for her."

"I see. So your actions are prompted less by trust and more by selfish desires."

"There is truth in what you say. Can anyone fault a mother for wanting to help and protect her child?"

"No, I suppose not." Rowan stared down into the fire for a time. "I think I would like to meet Lindra."

"I would like that. Lindra would as well."

Rowan looked up from the flames and smiled.

"What happened to the other three?" Olpara asked.

"Pardon?" Misara looked towards her.

"Your three friends that survived the attack. What happened to them?"

Misara paused as she thought about the question. "Flaris cloistered herself in the church of Sehanine Moonbow. She remains isolated, seeking answers in enchanted dreams. Evani had a spell laid upon her that wiped her memory and replaced it with another. To her all her friends died in a storm at sea. Javan is driven by vengeance and he has dedicated himself to the extermination of the drow. I fought alongside him several years ago, in the forest of Cormanthor. One day his cruelty and hatred may match the drow he hunts."

Misara turned away from Olpara and Rowan. "Get some rest. Our journey nears its end, but the last part is likely to be the most difficult."

* * *

Rowan poked at the embers of the fire with a stick, spreading them out a little. She would have to bury them soon to hide any sign of their camp. She looked to her companions. Misara was leaning against the trunk of a tree, her eyes open, apparently seeing nothing. Olpara lay on her bedroll, tossing, obviously not asleep.

Rowan was thinking of Misara's story. She had thought she knew the elven woman. From everything that Seomon and Damos had told her she would have thought that she knew the important facts. She was not certain that she knew what to think about what Misara had told her. She had some trouble combining the picture of the warrior for good with the loving mother or the helpless victim.

Lindra was her weakness, Rowan thought. Could she also be her strength?

There was something about Misara that was different, but she thought it might only be her view of the elf.

Olpara sat up. She looked over at Misara, then got to her feet and walked over to Rowan's side.

"I can't sleep," she said, stating the obvious.

Rowan pulled the stick from the fire and jammed the burning end into the ground to put it out.

"I've been of no use to you." Olpara sat down beside her.

Rowan wanted to deny what Olpara said, but she knew that Olpara was not looking to be reassured about her value.

"When we were in that keep, when those creatures attacked, I could tell that Misara wanted to fight her way clear of them. It was not because she was not willing to face that phaerimm monster, but because she did not want me to get killed. And I ran away, forcing us to go right to it.

"And when you had fallen and lay on the floor, I stood up there and I thought that I should run. I saw that horrible monster and I wanted to run."

"But you didn't," Rowan told her. "You came down and gave me the healing potion."

"I was more frightened of being on my own than I was of that monster, at least for that moment. I helped you because I was afraid. I've been doing everything because I've been afraid. I asked to continue with you at Hill Crown because I was afraid. I'm tired of that. I am tired of letting fear drive me. I finally realised that, and it disgusts me."

"Is that why you want to come with us?"

"I don't want to come with you. I want to take the opportunity that Misara offered me, to go to Waterdeep."

Rowan put her arm around Olpara and drew her close. Olpara leaned into her. They said nothing, just sat together while the embers in the fire cooled, waiting for Misara to wake.


	27. Blood on the Evermoors

**Chapter 27 - Blood on the Evermoors**  
by Shawn Hagen 

Near the base of the tall hill was a pile of rubble. Amidst weatherworn rocks were the broken pieces of a pair of pillars and the capstone that had once crowned them. The early morning mist around the rubble began to grow denser in places, forming straight lines of diffuse grey. In a handful of heartbeats a gate had formed out of the mist, two tall pillars with a capstone resting atop them.

Within the gate a patch of blue formed, shot through with lines of silver. It grew, spreading out until it touched the sides of the mist supports. The silver lines widened, becoming bands that merged and completely obscured the blue. It was like a mirror, but the reflection it showed was of another place.

Misara stepped from the gate, leading Berry. On Berry sat Olpara, her eyes covered with a blindfold. Rose Thorn walked out next, Rowan riding upon his back, her eyes also covered. Iron came through last, trotting through the gate.

As soon as Iron was through the silver faded, and the mist that had formed the structure was blown away by a breeze.

"You can remove your blindfolds," Misara told them.

Olpara and Rowan untied the bands of cloth about their faces, and then looked around.

The Evermoors stretched out about them, open, windswept, covered in gently rolling hills. Spring had come to the region since they had last been there and the smell of mildew was thick about them. The area still held a chill of the cold nights, but it would warm up shortly.

"Mud, lots of mud," Misara said as she walked up to Iron.

"We'll have to watch out for the bogs," Olpara said. "There will be worse than usual with the spring thaw." She was still looking about. "You say that this is the centre of the moor?"

Misara nodded. "More or less. The source of the Laughing Flow is about twenty miles south of here."

Olpara turned Berry slightly and lifted her hand, pointing off to the east. "That tor, it is sometimes called the 'Rock Sword'."

"Can you take us to Everlund from here?"

"Yes, or Nesemé. Both are easy enough to reach from here."

"Everlund," Misara said as she swung up onto Iron's back. "We will find some maps of the area and ask the Historian to identify the place where we might find Asharass. We can also send messages to the rest of the Silver Marches from there."

"Lead on," Rowan said to Olpara. "To Everlund."

* * *

Asharass watched as the scrying pool rippled and jumped. She cursed softly the protection that the gods offered their champions, the difficulty it caused her. The image in the scrying pool steadied slightly before being lost.

The elf had come north, had used a portal to leap the distance between the Backlands and the Evermoors.

To have come so quickly, there was no doubt in Asharass' mind that the elf must have learned of her, perhaps her plans as well. If the projection she used had the ability she would have dashed the scrying bowl from its stand. She clenched her fists tight, grinding her teeth together.

At her silent summons a large figure in armour so black it seemed to drink up the light came to stand in front of her. The construct that Liman and his companions had named Oil and Steel man was one of Asharass' finest creations. It did not match the work that was her body, but few things would.

She did not speak, and neither did it. There was no need.

It turned and walked away, the darkness swallowing it up.

Asharass needed to see how the work progressed. She was so close to the completion of her work. She could not, would not let the elf interfere. She disappeared from her chamber.

* * *

Shisii could tell the elf and her companions were gone. Their scent, carried on the wind, faded away. She looked towards Liman and knew that he was aware of that as well. The other tiger had recovered from the wounds that the elf had inflicted on him, but he was still afraid.

Shisii did not know what to think of that. Liman was still a powerful warrior and leader, but his fear of the elf had taken something away from him. Now that elf was gone, whisked away most likely by magic, Shisii wondered what Liman might do.

She shifted forward on padded feet, thinking about moving closer to the place that the elf and her companions had entered. There were other elves there, however, likely the guardians of the place.

Shisii stopped, the fur on her back standing up, and she turned, growling low in her throat. Liman had sensed it as well and was looking into a patch of darkness under the trees.

Then the Oil and Steel man stepped forth. Shisii hissed at him, backing up slightly.

"You will come with me," he said in his deep, hollow voice.

Liman returned to his human form. "The elf..."

"Has left this place. I am aware. I will take you to where she is. Together we shall kill her."

"You will fight with us?" Liman asked, in his voice an equal measure of hope and fear.

"I shall. Now come and stand by me." The darkness began to gather around him.

Liman stepped forward so he was beside the Oil and Steel man. He looked at Shisii. "Come," he told her.

For a moment Shisii considered refusing, of running off to find her own way. Hesitantly she stepped forward, towards the Oil and Steel man, His darkness grew and deepened, enveloping her, taking her away.

* * *

It was their second day on the Evermoors. They hoped to reach Everlund before the sun set and the city closed its gates. Olpara led them along the trails, hidden and otherwise, of the Evermoors. She knew which to avoid, the ones that would lead to traps set by the fell creatures that lived there.

They were making excellent time.

It was a warm day, the wind blowing from the south, bringing clouds with it. Misara wondered if it would rain.

"Why do you think Asharass is stirring now?" Rowan asked. "I mean, she's been sealed away and apparently quiet for, well, thousands and thousands of years. Why now?"

They had been speaking of Asharass for some time, however before their conversation had concerned the nature of a god's blood and how Asharass might have been opposing them.

Misara looked about, the area around them flat and open. Satisfied there were no immediate threats she directed Iron forward so she could ride beside Rowan. "I don't really know. It may be that with the Retreat the guardians, if any, left. During the Time of Troubles the wards may have been weakened, allowing Asharass to reach out with her will. The opening of the Silver Marches has allowed people to explore where they may not have before. It might be some unfortunate prospector broke in while looking for a vein of gold."

"How many other dangers like Asharass lay buried in the Silver Marches?"

It was not a question that Rowan expected an answer to, so Misara did not try to. Not that she really knew. The best answer she might offer was 'too many'.

"What do we do once we have stopped Asharass?" Olpara asked.

"There is not very much we can do, but make sure that her prison is properly guarded."

"There must be a way to destroy that body," Rowan said. "Maybe it is like the Historian suggested, the elves who crafted it were unwilling to destroy their work."

"Maybe," Misara said, but she did not believe that to be the case.

Rowan and Olpara continued to discuss how Asharass might be dealt with. Misara offered the occasional comment when required, but was not really paying much attention to the conversation. It was not that she thought it unimportant, but her thoughts were on what Asharass might do to stop them.

She was certain that the dragon had been behind many of the attacks against her and the others. Kesk, the demons, the weretigers, were all candidates.

Did that mean Asharass was vulnerable? Were her plans still far from complete? Did Asharass know that she had learned about her and was on her way to stop her?

"Something is ahead of us," Rowan said.

Misara blinked, letting her eyes loosing their far off look. There were three forms, moving towards them, along the same path. One of them was large and dark; there was an indistinct haze about that person, as if it brought its own shadows with it. Flanking it were two others, a man and an elven woman.

"Anyone you know?" Rowan asked Olpara.

Olpara shaded her eyes with her hand and stared out at the approaching people. "I don't think so," she said after a moment.

"Might be giant or troll hunters," Rowan said, but she loosened her sword in its sheath.

"Be ready and spread out a little," Misara said as she directed Iron away from the others.

As she got closer she could see the one in the middle wore black armour. He was tall, perhaps nearly seven feet, broad across the shoulders, a sword worn at his side. The man and the woman that flanked the armoured figure wore no armour. In fact, it looked as if they wore very little. She placed her hand on the hilt of her blade. Looking over towards the halfling she saw that Olpara had her hand in the pouch where she kept her spell components.

They were all ready.

"None of them are evil," Misara heard Rowan say to Olpara.

Misara felt a stab of loss and jealously at Rowan's words.

The approaching group halted some distance from them. "Hail travellers, well met," the nearly naked man called out.

Misara and the others brought their horses to a halt. "Well met," Rowan called back. "A lonely place for a walk."

"Not for what we hunt."

Misara watched the armoured man and the woman. It was hard to tell anything about the one, for his armour hid any clue body language might provide, but the elf seemed ill at ease.

"What is it you hunt?"

"Giants. Have you seen any?"

Misara did not think they looked like giant hunters. The armour of the one was far too clean to have been days on the Evermoors, hunting giants. Her armour had become mud splattered from just riding.

"We may have seen giant sign some distance behind us," Rowan told him. "We have not actually seen any of the brutes though."

"Thank you," he said, and started forward. His two companions walked with him. "We'll see if we can find what we need."

Misara backed away from the trail, giving them room so that they could pass. Rowan and Olpara were doing the same. They would not pass by however, Misara was certain of that. There would be battle and death soon.

They were close, almost between her and Rowan, and Misara could see them clearly. The man wore only a loincloth, and carried a leather satchel. The woman had only a small pack. Both of them wore rings, bracelets or bracers, and necklaces. There was something familiar about them.

The armoured man stopped.

His two companions changed, becoming tigers that Misara recognised. As they changed both of the huge tigers screamed. Iron tensed beneath her, ready for a fight. The scent of large predators did not frighten her horse. Nor did it seem to bother Rose Thorn. Berry, however, tried to bolt, and Olpara nearly fell from his back as she fought to bring her horse under control.

Rowan turned her attention towards Olpara, away from the enemy.

The two tigers leapt towards Olpara and Rowan.

The armoured man moved towards Misara, his sword sliding from its sheath like an arrow from a bow. His movements were fluid and fast. Misara drew her sword halfway from its sheath and used the exposed blade to block his blow. She let the force drive her back, used it to launch into a flip that brought her to her feet a few paces from Iron and the armoured man.

Iron spun about, leaping into the air, lashing out with his rear hooves.

The armoured figure shifted to the side, lifting his sword, blocking Iron's attack. Sparks flew as the steel horseshoes clashed with the blade, and the armoured figure was pushed back, but only slightly.

Iron was thrown off balance, and landed badly. She watched as Iron stumbled away, favouring his right, rear leg.

Only a few heartbeats had passed.

The armoured man shifted his stance slightly and then came at her.

She met him, catching his sword driving it up. He was strong and easily countered her move, bashing her sword aside and punching her in the stomach. Misara managed to roll with the blow, but it still made her feel as if she were going to be sick.

She shifted backwards rapidly, careful of her footing in the wet and muddy ground. Quickly she looked towards where Rowan and Olpara fought. The tigers were leaping about them, trying to drive the horses into a frenzy. Rose Thorn was having none of it but Berry was out of control.

Misara returned her complete attention to her fight, bringing up her sword to block a series of swift attacks from the armoured man. She examined him as she fought. There were no openings in his armour, no gaps through which she might get her sword. No breathing slits marred his helmet, and the eyeholes were not really holes, but simply dark depressions.

He was not living being, she realised, parrying his attack and kicking him hard in the knee, to no effect. He, it, was a construct of some kind: Fast and strong with a fighting style that was simply brilliant. Speed, strength and an economy of motion; she was not sure how she was going to beat him.

She caught his next blow low on her sword, moving in close to him. She forced his blade up, using leverage to her advantage. Once it was high she snapped her sword around, driving it at the point where his helmet joined the neck of his armour. He snapped his left arm up, catching her blade with the back of his wrist and knocking it away.

As she used her momentum to continue by him, to a safer position, she noted that her blow had left the armour apparently unmarred.

She caught sight of Rowan. She had dismounted and was fighting on foot, Rose Thorn leaping about, kicking and biting at the tigers. Olpara was trying to get off Berry. Even as she tried to dismount the red weretiger leapt at her.

Misara called out a warning, even though she knew she had voiced it too late. She might have tried to do something, had her armoured opponent not spun on her, forcing her to devote her complete attention to him.

"Olpara!" she heard Rowan scream, and knew that the halfling had fallen under the tiger's teeth and claws.

Misara brought her blade up, parallel to the ground, blocking the construct's downward swing, pushing the blade up. As they strained against one another's strength, Misara looked into the silver of her blade, seeing a limited reflection of what was behind her.

The red weretiger was bounding towards her; the white weretiger leapt away from something that Misara could not see and then turned and followed after the other. Had Rowan fallen, or had she rushed to Olpara's side? No matter. For a moment all three of her opponents had focused on her. They would take her down and then turn on any survivors.

They were good.

"Guide me," she said, a soft prayer in elvish. She waited, watching as the weretiger came closer and closer. She saw it leap.

She brought her sword around, the end of the hilt tracing out a half circle before the pommel slammed into the other sword, driving it away from her. She spun and took her left hand from the hilt of her sword. She grabbed the right wrist of the construct, holding it in a grip that she would only let death break.

Spinning about, yanking at the construct's arm, she came to stand back to back with him. Had he not been so tall she would have slammed her elbow into his head. Instead she focused on keeping her feet well placed, grounding her strength, forcing the construct to her will, as if he were a puppet. More of a puppet.

The construct's sword was held in front of it, controlled, for that moment, not by it, but Misara. The weretiger, committed to its leap, flew straight at that sword.

She could see the terror in the eyes of the weretiger.

The construct tried to break free, tried to lower its sword tip, but she had the advantage at that moment. Her feet were better placed, her balance that little bit better, he was unable to effectively use his strength.

The weretiger's chest hit the tip of the blade. The force of its leap drove it forward, spitting it. Its scream would echo across the moors. Misara watched, waited until she was certain that sword was deep within the weretiger's breast, then she released her hold on the construct and shifted away from him.

Several hundred pounds of weretiger crashed over the construct, driving him back. Misara dropped into a crouch and spun about, leg extended, and swept the construct's legs. It and weretiger fell to the ground in a tangle of fur and steel.

Springing to her feet Misara twirled about, slicing the white weretiger across its side, cutting deep into it even as it leapt at her. She watched the weretiger land and stumble, rolling across the ground, leaving blood in its wake.

Misara turned and ran to where the other weretiger and the construct lay tangled up. She lunged, plunging the tip of her sword into the back of the weretiger's neck, pushing to through until the point scraped across the armour of the construct.

As she yanked her sword free of the dead weretiger the construct stood, tossing the body aside. As the weretiger fell to the ground it shifted for the last time, becoming a man.

Gripping her sword in both hands Misara launched a series of fast attacks at the construct. It was still off balance from its fall, and she had no intention of letting it regain its earlier form.

She drove it back as if she were trying to break its defence, however that was not her true intention. She just wanted it to continue moving back, into the bog behind it.

She watched as it stepped away from her, its left foot sinking into the sucking bog. It fought to keep its balance, fought to keep its defence up. It managed to do both, but neither as well as it needed.

Misara knocked its sword to the side with a strong blow. She checked her swing, brought her sword up and around her body to build up momentum, and then drove her blade down at the black breastplate. The sword hit with a sound like a hammer on an anvil, and she felt the force of the blow in her wrist, elbows, shoulders and even her hips.

For a moment it seemed the armour would hold, as if it would turn her blade aside as it had earlier.

Then a tiny crack appeared beneath her sword.

She drove the blade harder, wanting to break through that armour.

Suddenly a bright, white light exploded from within the armour, sending her flying back several body lengths. The construct was forced deeper into the bog by the force.

Misara hit the ground, managed to break her fall, losing her sword as she rolled to her feet. As she came up on her feet, pulling her dagger from her belt, she prepared for a follow up attack. None came.

The construct stood in the bog, up to its waist. Its hands were pushed against its chest, as if it were trying to stem the flow of light from the crack. As she watched blackness grew around it, seeming to fight with the light that leaked from it, and then the construct was gone.

Misara looked about, waiting to see if it would reappear.

Nothing happened.

She grabbed her sword and wiped the blood from it before sheathing it. She walked quickly over to where Rowan was holing Olpara.

"Will she be alright?" Misara asked. She stood over Rowan and could see the bloody mess that Olpara's chest had become. The halfling's eyes were closed and there was blood on her lips.

Rowan had her hands, stained red by the blood, over that wound. "I've stopped the bleeding," she said. "She'll be fine, with a little time."

Misara reached into her belt pouch and removed a scroll. She placed it beside Rowan. "That should help."

"Thank you," Rowan said.

Misara turned and looked towards Olpara's horse. It lay on its side, deep claw marks in its neck. Rose Thorn stood near by, apparently unharmed. It snorted, and Misara supposed he was mourning a fallen comrade.

Iron stood near by, holding his right, rear leg off the ground. She moved to her horse and knelt down so to examine the wound in his leg. The sword had cut deep into the steel shoe, and had damaged the hoof beneath. There was also a deep cut along his fetlock.

"You're too mean and ugly to let this stop you," she told Iron as she said a prayer and healed the wound. She was going to have to remove the shoe, she thought, as Iron put his hoof back on the ground, testing his leg as he put more weight on it.

She got up, reaching for the saddlebags, when she heard a soft cry. She turned and looked back to where she had fought the construct and the weretigers. Lying in the grass was the white weretiger, back in her elven form, her hands trying to stem the blood flowing from her wound.

Misara drew her sword and went to stand over the injured woman. The weretiger looked up as she approached, and it seemed as if she tried to stand, but her legs would not support her.

She was not evil, but she had been involved in evil things. Misara had killed many helpless enemies as they lay before her. It had always been necessary. She found herself in that position once more.

Misara knelt down beside her, reaching into her belt pouch as she did so. "Take this," Misara said, drawing a steel vial from the pouch.

Slowly the weretiger took one hand from the wound in her side and reached out with a bloody hand to take the vial that Misara held.

Misara kept a hold on it and met the confused gaze of the wounded woman. "If I ever here tales of a white tiger harming any good person you can be certain that I will find you again." She released the vial allowing the woman to take it. She did not break eye contact with the weretiger until she nodded.

"I'm glad that we understand each other." Misara stood, turned, and walked back to where Iron waited.

She did not know why she was letting the weretiger live. It might be that she was an elf, or because in some ways she reminded Misara of Lindra.


	28. Red Tears Hill

**Chapter 28 - Red Tears Hill**  
by Shawn Hagen

They arrived at Everlund after dark. The attack and the loss of Olpara's horse had slowed them a little. Rowan was not about to wait for sunrise and the opening of the gates. Imperious in her demands, she soon had gained them entry.

They rode to the Starmeadow and Misara had junior priests rushing about, collecting the things that they needed. While a priest looked at Olpara's wound and made certain that it was properly healed, Misara called forth the Historian and began to show him the maps of the area.

The library at the Starmeadow had maps that described what the land was like more than six thousand years in the past.

As the Historian looked over the maps, Yeshelné moved up close to Misara. She looked at the Historian and then at Misara. "He really is one of the Ilythirr?"

Misara had removed her armour and some of her clothing so she could treat some of the bruises she had acquired over the past few days. "He really is."

"Punished by the gods, for reasons he can't remember, held in this state until he can redeem himself?"

Misara nodded. She scooped a thick paste from a small jar and began to rub it on an ugly bruise on her arm.

Yeshelné turned to look at the Historian and then back to Misara. "You take some sick joy in springing these little surprises on me, don't you?"

Misara laughed. "I swear on my honour that such a thing has never been my intent."

"I'm surprised I never heard about him before," she said, and then took the jar of salve from Misara and moved around behind her. "How did you get these bruises on your back?"

"I think it is was when the burst of positive energy hurled me some distance," Misara told her as Yeshelné began to apply to salve to her back.

"What?"

"Never mind. It's not important right now."

"I think I'm going to be having a lot of visitors soon. I'll be happy to see more elves in Everlund."

"Why?"

"Well, a good number of elves interested in ancient history are certain to come here to speak with the Historian."

"He's not staying here."

"What." Yeshelné moved in front of Misara. "Why not here?"

"He's going to the High Forest."

"The High Forest? What is there?" She paused, her lips forming a hard line and her brow furrowed. "Misara you can't seriously be considering..."

"I am. Vilis was the one who told me about him."

"Misara, I'm not prejudiced against the followers of Eilistraee..."

Misara laughed, though not unkindly.

"Alright, perhaps I am, but that is not where my concern lies, I swear."

"What is your concern?"

"As I said, there are a great many elves, and powerful human elf-friends I have no doubt, who will wish to speak with this Historian. If they have to travel into the High Forest and deal with a group of dark elves, well, many of them are not going to be happy."

"What you are saying is that there are going to be many people that are unhappy with me."

She nodded. "There are the politics of the matter to consider."

Misara smiled up at her. "Do you really think I care about politics?"

"I'm not telling you anything that you have not already thought of, am I?" Yeshelné grudgingly smiled.

"As they say, don't try to tell a fox how to steal chickens."

"Charming saying," she said sarcastically.

"The halflings of Lurien say it. Feel free to use it."

"I'm certain that I will the next time that I meet with the other Elders of the city. Kayle Moonwalker will mention something about the elven priests serving with the Army of the Vale and I will say 'don't try to tell a fox how to steal chickens.' It will go over well."

"Excellent."

"You try my patience Misara Anor'Esira."

Misara was about to reply when the Historian said, "Here, here it is." She got up and walked over to the table where the maps were spread out, Yeshelné beside her.

"This is the location of the hall," he told them.

"What is the date on this map?" Misara asked.

The junior priestess who had been aiding the Historian said, "It shows the land as it was about five thousand years ago."

None of the current cities in the Silver Marches were on it, and the cities that were marked had long ago disappeared. The rivers were similar in shape, but not the same. The mountains showed only a little change from how they were in present day.

"The Southern Edge of the Moonwood," the priestess said. "Near Silverymoon."

"What is there?" Misara asked.

The priestess grabbed a pile of maps and flipped through them. "A small mountain I believe," she said. "More of a hill really, dwarfed by the Nether Mountains to the west. It was called Caradniire, red tears." She pulled a map free of the pile and spread it out on the table. "Now the humans call it Wolf Hill for the werewolves that once made it their home."

The new map was of the Moonwood, drawn in great detail. Wolf Hill was located near the southernmost edge of the forest.

"We'll leave immediately," Misara said as she reached for her clothing.

"Don't be rash," Yeshelné told her. "If you wait a few hours I can talk to Kayle and arrange for you to travel with members of the army."

"I don't want to wait a few hours," Misara told her. "But if you can convince First Elder Moonwalker to send members of his army to Wolf Hill that would be of value." She pulled on the padded, silk shirt she wore under her armour.

"What can you do by yourself?"

"Whatever is needed."

"Fine. Rush off ill prepared. It won't be the first time. How soon will you leave?"

"As soon as I finish getting dressed," she reached for her hose.

"Very well," Yeshelné strode from the room. "You will have some elves with you. Since I am getting no rest," she called back, "I see no reason why anyone else should."

* * *

They rode from Everlund through Silverymoon gate. While most of the city's population slept on, unconcerned, their were those that were not that lucky. Yeshelné had woken the city Elders and other important people. Spells were cast to frustrate scrying attempts and messages passed to the other members of the Silver Marches by means of magic.

Olpara sat upon the back of an elven horse, the beautiful beast speeding down the road, slowed not at all by the darkness. Misara rode ahead of her, perched upon Iron's back. She wore a full suit of elven plate armour, even her head covered by a beautiful helmet. She had never seen Misara so outfitted.

Rowan rode beside Misara, also wearing her full armour. Rose Thorn had been clad in heavy barding, but he ran as if nothing weighed him down.

She looked at the two women, charging forward, and wondered if anything could stop them. It was a silly, romantic notion really, but Olpara thought she could sense the power of their gods on those two women.

Around them were seven other elves, also riding the beautiful elven horses. The high priestess Amrallatha had provided the elves and the mounts. They were there to ensure that Misara and Rowan reached their destinations safely.

What Olpara thought she would remember for the longest time was how silent the night was. The horses were running almost full out, with a stride that made the miles flash by, and yet their hoof beats were nearly soundless.

There was magic in the night, and great things were about to happen.

She was part of it.

Wonder pushed back fear and Olpara remembered why she had first set out to see the world. She wanted to shout with joy. She settled for smiling, and leaning forward into her horse's mane. It smelled of wild flowers and sunshine.

* * *

Asharass stood in the huge cavern where her body had stood motionless for millennia. She had been alone and isolated for almost all that time. Even when she had learned to send forth her mind, to take an incorporeal form that might wander beyond her physical body, she had found that she could not leave the hall. The wards had kept her trapped.

The wards had been weakened, but she could still not pass beyond them. Fortunately others were not so constrained. Her first servant had been an explorer with the bad luck to find her prison. He had not lasted long under her mental domination, but long enough to bring others.

That had been more than a decade in the past, but a heartbeat to Asharass' sense of time. Since then she had found those that would serve her without needing to be dominated. They were her eyes and hands beyond the confines of the wards, allowing her to interact, albeit in a limited manner, with the world.

Now the time was coming where she might truly be free. Once her body could move, once it was fully animated, she knew there was nothing that could stop her.

About her was activity. The last of the pieces were being put in place for her freedom. The pace was hectic for she had pushed the schedule up, wanting to complete in days what should have taken weeks, and then asking for even more speed.

It was dangerous. The haste in which she forced her servants and slaves to operate could spoil it all, but she had no choice. The elf and her companions had survived, were last seen entering Everlund. Whatever it was that the elf had discovered was now likely known to all the leaders of the Silver Marches.

Asharass had to act. She would gamble it all on success.

There was a crash, and the sound of glass shattering, followed by a bellow of anger. She was instantly at the sound of the noise, not bound by the constraints of a physical being.

One of the carts had turned over; it appeared as if a wheel had broken. Its load was now spread out on the floor, broken glass that glittered in the mage lights that illuminated the room. A tall, thin guard, a man who likely had some orc in him, stood over a pair of frightened gnomes. He was about to bring a heavy club down one of the gnomes when, at her silent command, a helmed horror, another of her constructs, grabbed the club.

The guard's eyes widened and he turned to look at Asharass. "Great Asharass, these worthless gnomes..."

"Silence," Asharass ordered. She looked about. There were many watching now, to see what she might do. "I do not care whether these gnomes were careless, or if you have harassed them to the point where they made a mistake, or if it was just bad luck. What I do care about is that you were about to beat these gnomes, which would mean they would not be able to work, which means that things would be slowed even more."

The helmed horror grabbed the guard by his head and then snapped his neck. As it carried the lifeless body away Asharass went to stand over the gnomes. "How long to replace this?"

One of the gnomes licked his lips, looked down at the shattered glass. "Two hours mistress."

She might have demanded that he do it faster, but she knew the gnomes were already working as fast as they could and yet still maintain the quality the undertaking demanded. "Very well. Get to work." She left them, walking back across the hall, looking about at the people who had gathered to watch. As soon as her gaze fell upon, if not sooner, they returned to work.

Two hours lost. She could not stand such delays. If only she had more of the gnomes, or any one skilled enough to craft and enchant the glass.

Asharass turned and stared up at herself.

Her body, the body the elves had thought to give to Taumon looked like a steel skeleton of an immense dragon. She stood, crouched, as if she were about to pounce. Her wings were spread, the tips nearly touching each side of the hall. Her neck was raised, her head the highest point of her body.

She remembered that day, long ago, as she had stretched out in her new form. She had been about to pounce, to rip into a group of elves that had stared up at her in horror. And then Gond had pronounced his blessing and curse and she had been frozen in that pose: A pose that was causing no end of difficulty.

Her entire body had to be clad in glass, as if it were a skin on her bones. Her legs had been covered, as had her ribs, spine and tail. That left the wings, her neck and her head to be completed. She watched as crane lifted a huge piece of glass towards her head. It was almost finished.

She spotted Cirtimin crossing the floor, moving as fast as his weakened body would allow him. She was instantly by his side, unwilling to let such a valuable servant drive himself too hard.

"What is it?" she asked him.

He leaned on his staff, breathing heavily. "The elf is on the road to Silverymoon, riding hard, with a small force. We also have had news that some of the leaders of the Marches are active, seeking to gather forces."

"She comes here," Asharass said. She looked back at her body. How long would it take to finish? How long before the armies of the Silver Marches stood at the gates of the hall?

"Order the hall secured," she told him. "We will hold it until I am ready."

"Yes Asharass," he said. "Do you wish me to send forces against the elf?"

"Do we have any that are not need to defend the hall, that might be able to defeat her?"

He shook his head.

"Then focus on defending the hall Cirtimin."

"I will."

Asharass left him, appearing far above the floor, on a platform above her body. A huge bowl of glass was held above her body in a framework of wood and iron. An angled, glass tube connected the bottom of the bowl to the glass about her head.

From the bowl would flow the blood; the blood would fill the glass that surrounded her body. There would not be a part of her that was not anointed in the blood.

I have you beat Gond, she thought, then turned towards Onica.

Onica was scraping the ink from the page of a book. As Asharass watched she poured the dust into a beaker. "Burn this," she said to one of her assistants, giving him the blank page, "put the ashes in the beaker as well."

"Yes Onica," the young man said.

"Onica," Asharass called.

Onica got up from her work stool and turned to face Asharass. She bowed deeply. "Yes Mistress," she said.

"Fill the bowl. Our enemies close on us."

"As you say Mistress." She straightened and turned towards her work crew. "Make certain that the main valve is off, double check the seal when you do so," she told a girl. The girl nodded and went to do as she was told. "Start pouring the oils into the bowl."

Asharass watched as everyone worked, within a minute the barrels of blessed oils were opened, the wax seals, marked with the symbol of Tyr, were cut off, the bungs knocked in. The oils were poured into the bowl, filling only a small part of it. There was much more that needed to be added. Much, much more, Asharass thought, watching the work.

* * *

Rowan felt her heart speed up as they came in sight of the lights of Silverymoon. The journey had been long, the distance travelled great, but she was almost home. The quest she had set out on was almost over, and she was certain that it would end successfully. Not bad for a farmer's daughter from Amn.

As the group came closer to the city they slowed and came to a stop. The horses snorted and tossed their heads, all of them anxious to be moving again. Even Rose Thorn had caught the excitement of the elven horses and shifted excitedly underneath her.

"We'll part ways here," Haranye said. He was the scout that had been sent with them.

Off to the west was a path that led to the Moonwood. Rowan would continue on to Silverymoon to raise the forces they would need.

"Fanya and Luva will go with you," Misara told Rowan. "I will see you at Wolf Hill."

"I'm going with Misara," Olpara said.

Rowan turned towards the halfling, surprised by her statement.

"As you wish," Misara said.

Rowan wanted Olpara to stay with her, where it was, she admitted, safer. However she knew that Olpara must believe that she needed to go with Misara and the others. "Save some of the enemy for the rest of us then," Rowan told her, taking off her helmet so Olpara could see her smile.

"I'll try," Olpara told her.

"We must ride," Misara said. Iron started forward, galloping down the side path, Olpara and the five other elves following after them. Rowan raised her hand in farewell before they disappeared into the night. Beside her Luva called out, "Quel fara," to his departing companions. Good hunting.

Rowan put her helmet on. "Let's go," she called out. Rose Thorn leapt forward, running towards Silverymoon.

* * *

Asharass stood upon the platform, staring down into the glass bowl. Already it was more than half full with a mixture of blessed oils and blood. She supposed, from the reaction of those people around the bowl, that the scent coming from it was not pleasant.

A flat full of large, glass jugs had been lifted from the floor to the platform. In each of the jugs was the blood of a paladin, or a priest of one of the good gods. For years her agents had been waylaying such individuals and bringing them to the hall where their blood was drained. Drained for this day.

As the contents of the jars were poured into the bowl men with long poles stirred the mixture. They kept the liquid in constant motion so that it would not coagulate.

There was an etched line near the lip of the bowl. When the blood reached that level there would be enough to completely fill the glass that surrounded her body. She moved to the side of the platform and stared down at herself.

She was almost completely clad in the glass. Only a few of the bones in the wing and the head remained to be covered. Soon. Very soon.

"Majestic Asharass, Cirtimin sends a message," someone said from behind her.

She turned to look on a young man. He had bowed deeply, his eyes on the ground. "What is it?"

"The elf Paladin, the halfling, and five other elves approach. Cirtimin says they will reach the hill shortly after sunrise."

"Very well. You are dismissed."

"Thank you Majestic Asharass." He stepped back, not looking up.

She turned her back on him and looked down at her body. She smiled.

Darkness formed beside her and her finest construct stepped from it. She looked at it, noting the weld in its chest. The elf had breached the once perfect surface and the seal she had put on it was like a scar.

"Do you think you might best the elf?" she asked.

The construct did not answer, but she could sense the desire within. It wanted to challenge the elf, to beat her. It was certain it would succeed.

"Take ten of the helmed horrors with you. Strike when she and her companions get close." She looked over at the bowl. "If you can, bring her here, alive. I'll have her throat cut and pour her warm blood into the mix. Surely her blood will be of value."

The construct did not say anything. The darkness gathered around it and it was gone.

* * *

Though the sun had risen it was still dark under the dense canopy of the Moonwood. Evergreens, shadowtops and duskwoods rose high around them, the branches above alive with the sound of birds and animals. Misara almost relaxed as she rode amidst the trees.

"Wolf Hill is not too far from here," Haranye said as he brought his horse to a stop and then swung down from its back. "We should continue on foot."

Misara and the others dismounted, leaving their horses behind as they pushed further into the forest. The ground cover grew thicker but Haranye found them an animal trail that they followed easily enough. In the shadow of the trees the elves were all but invisible. Olpara was not quite as stealthy, but Misara did not fear that the halfling might give them away.

They climbed a small raise, and stopped at the edge of a clearing. Ahead of her Misara could see Wolf Hill. It was tall, with steep slopes. In some parts of Faerûn it might indeed be considered a mountain. Still, had she not known what was buried beneath it she probably would not have given it a second glance.

"Why do they call it Wolf Hill?" Olpara asked.

"Two decades ago a pack of werewolves claimed it and the surrounding area as their own," Haranye told her. "A decade ago a group of adventures and a small force from Quaervar came here with silver and fire and killed most of the pack."

Misara had been looking at the hill, searching for signs of the hall underneath or a way in. She looked over at Haranye. "They set fire to the forest?"

"Mostly to the scrub in the area, and close to the hill."

"Interesting," she said.

"Why?" Olpara asked her.

"It opens the hill up for easier access about ten years ago. It might be a coincidence, but..." She shrugged her shoulders.

"There is an old trail nearby. It may have once been a road." Haranye set off, skirting the edge of the clearing. The rest followed him, entering the forest once more.

They did not have to travel too far before they came out on the trail that Haranye had told them about. It was narrow; the ground was rough and covered with scrub. It did not appear as if anything had used the trail in a long time. That seemed odd to Misara.

Acting on a hunch she drew her sword and invoked its ability to dispel magic. Around her, in a perfect circle, the ground became smooth, a road of stone flags, easily wide enough for a wagon to travel on. She could tell the road was ancient, the flags cracked and chipped, but it was in surprisingly good shape.

"I never knew of this," Haranye said, kneeling down to look at the stone.

"I think it may be as old as the hall."

"Perhaps," he said, brushing his fingers along a stone flag, "but this road had been used as recently as a week ago." He pointed to a scratch on the surface. "A heavily laden wagon."

Misara let her sword's power fade. The road disappeared, replaced by the old, narrow path. Haranye, who was suddenly part way in a tree, let out a small gasp of surprise and quickly moved away from the tree. "Illusion or not, that felt strange."

"Let's go. I suspect that this will lead us to the hall's main gates."

Misara led, certain in the path. She marvelled at the illusion's quality. The ground felt rough and uneven beneath her feet, and the trees solid. She wondered if it was something that Asharass had arranged or if it was part of the ancient wards her people had placed there.

The path lead closer to the hill, into the area that had been burnt clear a decade before. It was as Haranye had told her. The trees remained, but the scrub had been burnt away.

"Something comes," Varatel said.

The warning gave them a moment to prepare themselves, and they were not taken completely by surprise when several constructs appeared close to them. Misara recognised the one she had fought only a day before. The other ten she suspected were constructs known as helmed horrors.

The helmed horrors had crossbows ready, and fired them almost as soon as they appeared. Behind her Misara head Varatel speak words of magic. There was the sound of a tempest and the crossbow bolts were blown upwards and away from them.

Misara leapt through the wall of wind, her cloak flying above her as she passed through. The closest of helmed horror hurled its empty crossbow at her, which she easily dodged, and then drew its sword. The blade of the creature's sword ignited, swathed in flames. Misara could feel the heat from the sword as she dodged around the helmed horror's attack.

Three of the helmed horrors began to walk into the air, reloading their crossbows as they climbed towards the canopy. The other seven remained on the ground, flaming swords ready. The superior construct came straight at Misara.

Misara and the superior construct traded blows, a series of rapid attacks and counters that spun them about, away from where the battle had started.

Haranye and Estai had drawn their bows and were running through the forest, firing arrows up at the helmed horrors that had taken the sky. Varatel was in the process of casting another spell, Olpara and Kir'Mana had moved to protect her should any try to attack the wizard. Barith had a kukri in each hand, blue arcs of electricity danced on the inside curves of the knives' blades.

She only had a moment to see what the others were doing before the superior construct was on her again, its rapid attacks testing her defences, searching for a hole. She was doing the same. She knew she would defeat it. She had done it once already.

She caught fragments of the rest of the battle as she fought the superior construct and two to three other helmed horrors at any time.

One of the helmed horrors that had taken to the air fell to the forest floor, its body pieced with so many arrows that it looked like a porcupine.

Estai fell as a crossbow bolt pierced his shoulder.

Barith spun about two of the helmed horrors, using each one to tie up the other as his kukri stabbed and slashed.

Misara caught the heavy blade of the superior construct across her sword, turning her weapon so the construct's weapon slid off, almost hitting a helmed horror. That helmed horror was forced to back up, giving her some much-needed space.

Varatel stepped between Olpara and Kir'Mana, from her hands a blast like a blizzard leapt forth, the cone of freezing death rolling over two of the helmed horrors. One of the constructs was frozen in place but the other came forward, apparently unaffected by the spell.

It was Olpara who leapt in front of Varatel, her short sword drawn. The helmed horror's flaming blade lashed out and Olpara's body was sent flying back. Before Misara could tell what had happened to the halfling the superior construct was once more pressing her and she had to focus her entire attention on her fight.

There was a booming, and Misara caught sight of a helmed horror's helmet flying by. As she spun around her opponents, working their swords away from her as she went, she saw Barith fell one of his opponents, the kukri in his left hand buried in its back.

They would win, Misara thought. There would be wounded, perhaps even lives lost, but they would win. She kicked out at a helmed horror, knocking it back, then moved forward, pressing an attack against the superior construct.

It raised its sword to block a downward swing. Then it did something that she had not expected. It dropped the hilt, bringing the pommel around in a tight circle that caught her blade, knocking it up. With its left hand it grabbed her right wrist, spun around her, so they stood back to back to back, its solid grip on her wrist holding her sword out.

She was amazed that it had managed to make the manoeuvre work, and on her no less. It was the one with the solid ground and the better balance. She had no way to counter the move, was not even certain is such a counter existed.

There was no sense in what it did. None of her allies were close enough to be threatened, and the hold, while solid, did not allow it to attack. Then it slammed its elbow into her head with enough force to knock her helmet free. Well, there was that, the thought went through her dazed mind.

One of the helmed horrors charged her, running straight at her sword. Her addled thoughts were too slow for her to puzzle out its actions, and even if she had known, she could not have done anything to stop it.

The helmed horror impaled itself on her sword, moving up its entire length. It would not survive long, but it grabbed she sword, where the blade joined the hilt, and twisted it out of her hands.

As the fatally wounded horror fell away she felt another grab her arm, and the superior construct released its hold on her, but grabbed her other arm before she could break away. Even as she felt a third one grabbing her legs blackness was growing around her and the forest was fading away.


	29. In the Dragon's Lair

**Chapter 29 - In the Dragon's Lair**  
by Shawn Hagen

Olpara stumbled to her feet a moment before there was a flash and boom as a lighting bolt sped from Varatel's hand to blow a nearby helmed horror apart. She blinked her eyes against the flash of light and took a moment to take stock of herself. She was bruised, but unharmed. She had managed to block the flaming sword with her short sword. Unfortunately the force of the blow had sent her flying.

She looked about, just in time to see the armoured construct from the previous day disappear. Along with it went two of the helmed horrors and Misara. "Misara!" she called out.

Varatel looked about at Olpara's shout, then cursed. "Finish them quickly."

There were only three of the helmed horrors left, two in the air and one on the ground.

Kir'Mana ran forward to help Barith as Haranye put an arrow into the floating helmed horror that was trying to bring its crossbow to bear on Varatel.

The wizard drew a wand from her robes, moving faster than the helmed horror. She pointed the wand and whispered something. From the trees around the helmed horror black tentacles burst forth, wrapping it up in a tight grip. Even as Olpara watched the tentacles began to constrict, crushing the armour that was the creature.

As Kir'Mana and Barith finished the one they fought, Haranye felled the last, an arrow deep in the armoured chest of the horror.

Varatel ran to where Misara had disappeared. Haranye was helping a wounded Estai to his feet.

"They took her," Varatel said, then cursed loudly in elvish.

"We better find her then," Barith said as he sheathed his Kukri. "Better to be killed by this Asharass than to let Yeshelné rip us apart for losing Larethian's champion."

"This is no time to joke," Varatel said. "They took her, and from what Misara told us of this Asharass we probably don't have long to save her. Estai, do you live?" she called out.

"It's just a scratch, nothing that some elverquisst mixed with a healing potion won't cure." He lifted a flask into the air, as if in a toast, and then took a drink from it.

"Very well. We must find an entrance. We'll start at the end of the path and then move on from there."

"Wait a moment," Olpara said, running towards Varatel.

"No time Olpara," Varatel told her. "Stay here, you'll be safe enough until the forces from Silverymoon and Everlund arrive."

"But there is something..." All five of the elves took off running, disappearing amongst the trees before she could finish her sentence. She sighed and walked over to a fallen helmed horror. Its armour was already dissolving into slag. She kicked a partially melted gauntlet away. "Stupid big people," she said. "All they had to do was listen to me."

She reached into her jacket and removed a piece of folded silk. She peeled the material back, revealing a golden ring within, set with one ruby. There were two empty settings in the ring, identical to the one that held the ruby.

The ring had come from the phaerimm's horde; Olpara had grabbed it with a pile of other jewellery. She had cast a spell to identify the ring two nights ago, sprinkling precious diamond dust upon it to be certain it was what she thought: A ring of wishes.

Well, of a wish, for that was all that was left. She probably should have given it to Misara, or Rowan, and she had planned to... But it was a wish. A wish was not something easily given away.

She tossed the silk aside and put the ring on her ring finger. She really should chase after the elves, call out to them, and let them know what she had. But what if their enemies heard her shouting? They would know what she planned, or they might try to take the ring away from her.

"Stupid big people," she said once more. She wondered if she might wish for Asharass' destruction. She doubted it. She could wish Misara to her side. She might wish that the mage Khelben Blackstaff or even the great Elminster to her. Olpara gently chewed at her lower lip. That would be a good wish, but she did not think that such powerful mages would appreciate being called in such a manner. They might turn her into a bug before she had the chance to explain her predicament.

They had to stop Asharass, she thought. To do that they had to get inside the hall. Misara was likely already within. So she had to enter as well. She thought about it, tapped her foot, and wondered what would be the best course of action. She wanted to sit down and give it a good think, but time was limited.

"Alright. This is going to give you something of a shock, but you deserve it." She put her right hand over the ring on her left. "I wish that I, Varatel, Kir'Mana, Barith, Estai and Haranye were within the hall, in a place where we can see Misara, and be in a position to help her, and yet be hidden." Even as she spoke the wish she thought of all the stories she had heard. Stories of wishes being granted in a way that the person who made them never intended. It was not a good thought to have as the magic was whisking her away.

* * *

Misara was being held up, a construct gripping each arm, another holding her legs. She was staring at a stone ceiling far up above her. She twisted about, trying to break free, but her limbs where gripped too tightly, her captors too strong, and she had no real leverage.

She was captured.

It was not the first time it had happened. Now she wondered what they were going to do to her.

She moved her lips in a silent prayer for healing, just enough to take the fuzziness from her thinking and the ringing from her ears. She stopped struggling, saving her strength for a time when it would be of more use.

As they carried her she lifted her head to see what was about her.

"Greeting Asharass," she said, staring up at an immense dragon. It was a steel skeleton covered in glass. Why glass she had no idea. No doubt the glass was important.

The constructs were carrying her to a set of stairs that led to a platform high above her. She spotted a tall, beautiful woman, with red hair and pale skin. She was not real, Misara realised, noting a certain transparency to her. A projection of Asharass?

The woman looked up and Misara found herself staring into red eyes. The woman smiled and simply moved her head, indicating the stairs. She said nothing, which Misara felt was something of a refreshing change. Too many would be conquerors wanted to talk.

The constructs began to run, thundering up the stairs. In a short time she was brought up to the platform. There was a huge glass bowl, filled with something that likely was, at least in part, blood. As the scent of it reached her she almost retched. Surely the blood of a good and just god had to smell better than that.

There were many people up there. Some of them were pouring more blood into the bowl, some stirring the disgusting mixture to keep it liquid, and some doing things she did not understand. Directing them all was a half-elven woman with an odd shade of skin colour and almond shaped eyes.

"What's this?" the woman asked.

"More Paladin blood," the superior construct said. It sounded pleased.

For some reason Misara was surged by a sudden urge to correct them. She kept her silence however.

"Hang her over the bowl and slice her throat," the woman said, as if she were discussing something no more important than the proper way to kill a chicken. That was a little insulting, Misara thought.

The constructs carried her to the edge of the bowl. She tried to break free of their hold as they shifted about, the two helmed horrors grabbing her around her shoulders and elbows, forcing her out over the lip of the bowl. The scent hit her directly in the face, making her eyes water and nose run.

As she swallowed the bile that rose in her throat she saw how everything worked. The blood would flow down a pipe, into the glass that clad Asharass. Not a drop would be wasted. It was clever, verging on brilliant. It might even work, even with a mixture that smelled so bad.

The superior construct released her, moved away and called, "Bring me a dagger."

Misara was not going to die with her throat cut and her blood added to the mess below. She tried to break the hold the horrors had one her, but it was futile.

"Here," she heard the woman say, "you'll find this sharp enough."

Nothing for it, Misara thought, letting herself go limp in their hands. A moment later she again threw all her effort into breaking free, into getting away from the bowl. The helmed horrors restrained her. Even as they set their strength to holding her she threw herself forward, jamming her knees against the lip of the bowl, pushing off with all her strength.

They had not been expecting that, not been ready for it, and their strength was working against them, was instead working for her. She broke free of their grip and launched herself out, over the bowl. As she fell towards the blood one thought went through her mind: What now?

* * *

Olpara found herself standing upon a narrow beam, high above a stone floor. There was a huge, steel dragon skeleton, covered in glass, and directly below her an immense bowl that held something that looked like blood and smelled like an offal pit. She saw the helmed horrors and the other construct carry Misara onto the platform below.

She looked to her side when she heard a gasp. Varatel stood precariously on the same beam as her, one foot extended out over the drop. Whatever she had been doing at the moment of Olpara's wish, she had not expected to find herself in such a position, but to be fair, the halfling thought, who would?

Olpara looked about, spotting the other elves nearby. By some miracle none of them fell from the beams.

"What happened?" Barith asked in a soft tone of voice.

"I'll explain later," Olpara said. "Now we have to save Misara and stop Asharass."

"We have to get down there," Haranye said as he nocked an arrow.

Misara had been brought to the edge of the bowl. The armoured construct called for a dagger.

"We have no time to plan," Varatel said as she brought forth a bit of fur and a small glass rod from her robes.

Haranye had drawn his bow as Barith held one of his kukris as if he were ready to throw it.

Before any of them could launch their attacks, Misara had hurled herself out over the bowl and splashed into the thick red liquid, sinking out of sight in a moment.

As cries of alarm went up from the platform Olpara reached into her jacket for a small leather-satchel.

* * *

When Asharass heard the shouts from above she was instantly on the platform. "What's happening?" she demanded of Onica.

"Mistress, the elf has jumped into the bowl. I have ordered the crossbow men to kill her as soon as she surfaces."

Asharass turned to look at the bowl, the blood level nearly up to the etched line. It was no longer being stirred, those that had been doing so were now driving their long staves into the blood, hoping, she supposed, to hit the elf. Guards with crossbows were moving up the stairs; some of the workers had crossbows as well and they already stood ready on the edge of the bowl.

"Open the valve!" Asharass screamed. "Open it now!"

The girl who had earlier checked the valve ran to do as Asharass ordered. She was halfway down the narrow stairs that led to the bottom of the bowl when an arrow buried itself deeply between her shoulder blades. The girl stumbled and then fell from the stairs, her already dead body plummeting to the floor below.

"Attackers in the hall!" someone called out. "Attackers in the hall!"

Asharass looked up. The rafters above her had always been shadowy, but now it seemed as if those shadows were a little deeper. She could see a suggestion of movement in that darkness. Another arrow sped down, hitting one of the workers.

Ahsarass turned to the superior construct. "Go," she ordered it. "Open that valve."

The construct did as she said, running down the stairs, its weight causing the wood to shake dangerously.

From above her a bolt of lighting flashed down, hitting the construct. While the construct seemed hardly fazed by the bolt the stairs below it were blasted apart.

For a moment it appeared as if the construct would fall, but then it grabbed the iron framework that held the bowl and platform. Hand over hand it began to make its way to the valve.

* * *

The blood, and whatever else was mixed with it, pulled her down, closing over her head. She had her eyes tightly closed against it, but she could feel it in her nose, and it was under her armour, soaking her clothing underneath. It felt like the times she had emerged from long and huge battles, covered in blood.

She kicked with her legs, speeding towards the bottom of the bowl. She hit the glass with some force, in surprise her eyes opened, just a little, and the blood mixture made them sting. Shutting them tightly, she began to pound upon the glass with her mailed fists.

It was like hitting thick steel. The glass seemed impervious to her blows.

A picture of the bowl formed in her mind. There was the long tube that led from the bowl to Ashaarass' covering. She crawled along the bottom, the weight of the blood above and her armour's weight holding her to the surface. Her fingers found a hole. She ran her fingers around the rim, and reached into it.

That had to be it, she thought, reaching up and breaking the clasp that held her cloak. Working blind she balled the cloak up and then stuffed it into the hole. She pushed at it, making certain that it was wedged in tightly and blocked the drain.

It would give her some time. Hopefully it would be enough. Enough for what she was still not certain.

Her lungs beginning to ache, she turned about, and started swimming for the surface, powerful kicks speeding her up through the blood. Something hit her shoulder, glancing off, pushing her a little of course. She twisted away and continued up.

When she broke the surface she threw her head back, forcing the blood from her face, and then took a deep breath. She heard the twang of bowstrings, and the splash of arrows or bolts entering the blood around her. One hit her, but was turned by her armour.

She dove back down under the blood, still with no idea of what to do.

* * *

Asharass heard the sound of the crossbows firing, and the shouts from the people around the bowl. Obviously the elf had surfaced. She hoped that a bolt had killed her. She watched as the construct reached the valve control. Dangling by one hand, it reached out and turned the valve.

She let out a cry of triumph, but it was cut short. No blood flowed from the bowl into the pipe.

"Kill that elf," she screamed. "Kill them all! Fix the valve and let the blood flow!"

She would not be denied. She would not be so close the fulfillment of her destiny only to fail now.

* * *

Olpara watched as Misara surfaced. She dove back down almost immediately as crossbow bolts sliced into the blood around her. Misara still lived. She took a ring from the leather satchel, clutching it tight in her hand. Misara would surface again soon. She hoped.

"We must get down there," Barith said.

"I'll drop a line. Varatel, clear that platform." Kir'Mana had removed the small pack he wore and was pulling a coil of rope from it.

"Be ready," Varatel said as she looked through her belt pouch.

"Ware bolts," Estai called out.

Olpara and the elves used the support beams for cover as a hail of crossbow bolts rose up to the ceiling.

Haranye ran along a beam, firing rapidly as her did so. His arrows sped downwards.

Olpara was aware of all that tangentially. Her attention was focused on the bowl beneath her, waiting for Misara to surface.

* * *

Misara kicked downwards again, searching for the hole that opened to the pipe. Once there she made sure her cloak was still tightly jammed within. Fearing that a pole might work the cloth plug free, she pulled her gauntlets off and wedged them into the hole as well. It would keep it all tightly packed, for a time.

She remained at the bottom of the bowl, trying to come up with a plan. As her lungs once more began to burn she turned about and swam to the surface.

* * *

People rushed around the platform, trying to follow Asharass' orders. No one seemed to have any idea of how to do so: At least not quickly.

"Lady Asharass," someone called from behind her.

She turned to find Cirtimin standing nearby.

"What is it?" she demanded.

"Portals have opened around the hill. Soldiers from Silverymoon come forth."

Asharass spouted off a string of curses that had not been heard in over ten thousand years. "Tell my soldiers to hold," she ordered Cirtimin. "They only have to hold for ten minutes, no more. Ten minutes and the entire North will be ours."

"Yes my Lady," he told her, and then was gone.

Asharass looked about the platform. If she had a physical body she would kill these people with her own claws.

* * *

Olpara saw Misara break the surface of the blood. She leapt from the beam and fell. She heard a gasp of surprise, perhaps from Varatel.

"Misara," Olpara shouted as she fell.

Below her people looked up. Several of them held crossbows. Most were too slow to bring their weapons to bear on her. A few of them managed to do so. Olpara hardly noticed. Her attention was focused on Misara.

* * *

Onica heard someone call the elf's name. She looked up, her repeating crossbow shifting about as she did. A small form was dropping towards the bowl. She cranked the hand lever and fired.

* * *

Misara was about to dive down once more when she heard a familiar voice call her name. She wiped the blood from her eyes and looked up towards the sound, hoping that the crossbow bolts falling around her would not find their mark.

Olpara was dropping towards her, calling her name. The halfling had her eyes focused on her, and was obviously trying to reach her.

It was not something that Misara had expected.

Several crossbows were fired at Olpara as she fell.

At least one of the bolts hit.

Olpara's eyes opened and her mouth formed a perfect 'O'.

Misara lifted her hands, kicking hard with her feet to keep from sinking.

Olpara fell into her hands. Misara caught her, pulled her tight to her chest even as she flipped around so as to shield her. The force of the halfling's fall drove both of them under the blood.

Misara tried to feel for a wound on Olpara, searching for the crossbow bolt that had hit the halfling. Olpara hindered her, twisting in her arms, grasping for her hand. Then Misara felt Olpara push something into her right hand. It was a piece of metal, made slick with blood. It took her a moment to realise that it was a ring.

She almost let it drop, but Olpara was desperate to force it into her hand, and Misara did not know why. Olpara's actions over the last few days had been odd, different from the woman that had joined them on their quest. They had changed ever since they had escaped the Grey Mist Keep.

Suddenly she had a memory of an enchanted pane of glass shattering.

She knew what the ring was.

As she took it firmly she felt Olpara relax. Misara put it on her smallest finger and kicked for the bottom of the bowl. Holding Olpara in the crook of her left arm she put her right hand on the glass. Shifting around she placed her left hand over the stone on the ring and bean to press on it.

Beneath her fingers she could feel the glass begin to vibrate. The blood carried that vibration; she felt a pressure begin to build in her ears. As the vibrations grew stronger the pressure did as well.

Misara wondered if the ring could shatter the glass of the bowl.

She wondered if she could survive the force needed to do that.

* * *

Asharass wanted more than ever to scream and rage. The blood still did not flow, the elf lived, enemy still attacked from above, and a halfling had joined the elf in the blood.

She could hear the booming of in the distance as the enemy outside began to assault the gates, but her forces could hold them off. Her concern was within the hold.

Striding up to where Onica stood she demanded, "Why is this taking so long?"

"I am sorry Mistress."

"Send guards into the bowl, take the battle to the elf." Even as Asharass said it she knew it was not a good idea, but she could think of nothing else.

"As you say Mistress," Onica said.

Asharass knew that Onica did not think it a good idea as well, but she would do as ordered.

Before Onica could call out her orders the surface of the blood began to tremble.

"What is happening?" Asharass asked.

"I do not know Mistress, perhaps..."

There was a loud crack from below, and the blood began to rapidly drain. For a moment Asharass thought that the blockage had been removed, that the blood was flowing down towards her body. Then she saw that it was emptying far too fast, and there were calls of shock from below her.

The bowl had been cracked. The blood was emptying out.

* * *

One moment Misara was on the floor of the bowl, immersed in blood. The next she was falling, still immersed in blood. She hit something as she fell, a long bar that twisted her to the side. The support frame below the bowl, she realised, and threw out her hand to grab at some handhold.

Her fingers closed on something. It was slick with the blood, and her fingers began to slip. She gripped tightly and felt the metal deform under her fingers. She feared that it might break, but she did not relax her grip, as she also feared that she would fall.

After a moment it was no longer as if she was immersed in blood, but more as if she stood in a waterfall of it. The flow lessened, and then was gone, but for a light rain that splattered on her.

She jammed her feet into some of the supports below her, and then looked around. There was a hole in the bowl above her, below her the floor was covered in a pool of spreading blood. To her side three men, armed with crossbows, stood on the stairs. They lifted their weapons and took aim at her.

Misara pulled the short sword from the sheath on Olpara's belt. The blade slid out, cutting through the air. With an ease that amazed her she intercepted the bolts, knocking them aside.

Before the guards could reload she saw Kir'Mana come running down the stairs, long sword and short sword in his hands. He cut down the three crossbow men even as they tried to draw their own swords. He turned towards her and called, "I'll cover your descent."

Misara nodded and began to climb down the support scaffolding, one hand still holding tight to Olpara. Kir'Mana bounded down the stairs, cutting down anyone on the stairs. There were too few guards about and Misara wondered what the reason for that was.

She reached a lower platform. She dropped to her knees and gently lay Olpara down. Placing her hands on the bare skin of Olpara's face and neck Misara prepared to heal her. There was no pulse in the halfling's neck Misara realised as she said the words to a prayer of healing and let the power flow into the small body. There was no effect. It was like pouring water into a vase with a hole.

Olpara was dead.

She heard the sound of footfalls behind her. She turned and found Kir'Mana standing there. He was smiling and had a second long sword tucked under his arm. When he saw Olpara laying there his smile faded. "I'm sorry," he said.

"Little fool," Misara said, looking at the short sword she held. "Why didn't you draw your blade before jumping?"

"There is still fighting going on," Kir'Mana said, his tone apologetic.

Misara took the short sword and placed it on Olpara's chest, then brought the halfling's hands up to grip the hilt. "Corellon Larethian, Protect this little one's soul until her goddess comes to claim it." She stood and took the long sword from Kir'Mana.

"We'll make them pay," he told her.

Misara nodded.

* * *

Asharass could hear Onica ordering people below, to sponge up the fallen blood in any way possible. Onica was always trying to do what was best. Asharass saw another worker fall, an arrow in his chest, and bolts of magical energy streaked down to the floor to kill a worker running to follow Onica's orders.

"Onica, you must leave," Asharass told her.

Onica turned, surprise on her face. "Mistress?"

"It is over. It has failed. You must go, you must prepare for the next time."

"Mistress..."

"Do not argue. I am eternal. I will be here when you come to free me. I will not allow you to die. Now go."

Onica nodded. "As you wish Mistress. I will return." She turned and ran from the platform, leaping across to the wall, disappearing among the shadows. Ahsarass was certain that Onica would escape.

She left the platform, instantly appearing by Cirtimin's side.

"Cirtimin, you must go," she told him.

He looked away from the fighting that was going on near the main gate. The enemy had almost breached the armoured portals. "Lady Asharass?"

"The plan has failed. You must flee and plan anew. I will be waiting for you."

He nodded in understanding. "I will return to you," he said. "We will succeed."

"I know."

Asharass left him and went off to find others who were too important for her to let die. There were only a few.

Once they had all been ordered to flee she stood in the middle of the hall, looking about her. The soldiers from Silverymoon had broken the gates and were within the hall. Without their leaders her soldiers were unable to mount an effective defence.

Not far off she saw Misara, fighting with one of the helmed horrors. She almost called back her superior construct so that it might kill the elf. Revenge would not serve her purpose at that time, however.

The elf would live, for this day.

She let the projection fade, returning herself completely to her body. From high above the floor she watched the events unfold through the glass that covered her head.

* * *

Misara stood over the dissolving body of a helmed horror, looking for any other enemies. None presented themselves. She heard the sound of shod hooves on stone, and looked up towards a set of large, double doors. Through them rode a group of warriors. At their lead Misara recognised Domas.

He turned his warhorse and rode toward her, stopping a few paces away.

"We have broken their defences," he told her, his jovial voice echoing slightly in his helmet. "We will secure the entire place soon enough."

"I am glad," Misara told him.

He looked up at the huge form of Asharass. "Surely such a thing should never have been forged."

Misara did not say anything to that. She wondered, had Taumon taken the body, would he still be a powerful friend to the elves, or would time and power have corrupted that?

"There is still some fighting to do," he said. "Are you alright?"

"I have to find the elves who came with me. Good hunting Domas."

"And you," he told her, then turned his horse and rode off.

There was no more fighting left for Misara. She found Varatel and the others in various places around the hall. Other than Varatel all of them had taken some injuries, but nothing serious. She gathered them together and told them to rest up.

Varatel told her of how they had come to enter the hall, or what little she knew of it. Apparently Olpara had arranged for it, but Varatel had no idea how it was accomplished. It might be a mystery that was never answered, just another debt they owed the halfling.

She left them and went to stand beneath Asharass, waiting for Rowan.

Someone had soldiers dragging tarps covered with dirt into the hall. The dirt was tossed over the blood to absorb it. The mud that was created was then shovelled back onto the tarps and dragged away. It as almost finished when Rowan rode into the hall.

She had Rose Thorn gallop across the floor towards Misara. She pulled the horse to a halt nearby and then leapt down from his back. "We did it," she cried. "We've done it." She looked up at the dragon. "We beat Asharass!"

"We did. It is as much Olpara's victory as anyone else's," Misara told her, "and she paid for it with her life."

Rowan turned away from the dragon, a look of confusion on her face. "What?"

Misara reached out and put a hand on Rowan's shoulders. "She was very brave." She took her hand away and then started walking towards the stairs. Rowan followed after her, saying nothing.

Misara climbed the stairs until she was even with the platform where she had left Olpara. She leapt across and then helped Rowan cross.

Olpara lay there, as Misara had left her. Looking down at her Misara said, "She left me with a debt that I cannot repay."

Rowan knelt down beside Olpara's body. She took her cloak and used the corner to clean the blood from the halfling's face.

Misara knew that the time would come when Rowan would want to talk, but at the moment Rowan wanted to be alone. Misara left quietly, jumping over to the stairs and then descending to the floor.


	30. The Aftermath

**Chapter 30 - The Aftermath**  
by Shawn Hagen

It was a tenday after what some bards had named the 'Battle of Red Tears Hill'. Misara had spent most of that time in Silverymoon, telling the complete story to members and representatives of the League of the Silver Marches.

The last few days had been overcast, and cold, as if winter was not yet finished with the region. Then the clouds had blown away and a warm breeze from the south carried with it the promise of summer.

Misara knelt on the edge of the Moonbridge, at its highest point. She was dressed in a green silk dress and was barefoot. By her knee a mechanical songbird perched upon the sheath of her sword. The bird whistled a soft and beautiful tune. The dress and the songbird were among the many gifts that had been presented to her by the publicly grateful leaders of the Silver Marches. She supposed that some of them had to be truly grateful, but it was hard to tell.

The songbird and the dress were the only gifts she thought she might keep. The rest would likely be given in to the care of the temple at Everlund.

She looked down into the water and thought about the High Forest.

There was traffic on the bridge of magical force, quite a bit of it, but no one had bothered her. Then someone came and sat down beside her. She looked up into Domas' eyes.

"You're hiding," he said to her good-naturedly.

"Yes."

"I envy you." He laughed. "You are going to leave soon?"

"Tomorrow."

"Taern Hornblade and Alustriel wish you to attend a state dinner in your and Rowan's honour this evening."

"How could I say no?"

"You'd say no and walk away."

"Well, yes, but not this time."

He shifted about, letting his legs dangle over the edge of the bridge. "Things are difficult," he said. "You'd think that with the evil beaten that everything would be well."

"You are nowhere that naïve," Misara told him, and reached to gently stroke the mithral and gold feathers on the head of the songbird. Its song changed slightly, and Misara knew that no one would overhear what she and Domas said.

"But I am hopeful. Alustriel wishes to seal the hall, strengthened the seals with wards, and to put guards around Wolf Hill. No one is to ever get in again."

"It would be a wise choice."

"You would think. Unfortunately there is no agreement. Helm Dwarf-friend does not believe in burying such things. He wants the hall left open, garrisoned, and to invite people to come who might know of a way to destroy the dragon."

Domas said nothing for a short time, and then, "I am not certain that that is such a poor choice."

Misara did not reply.

"King Warcrown, well, I am not certain, but he may think that Asharass is just a construct, a power that might useful. King Harbromm wants to tear down Ahsarass and salvage the metals."

"Were that it was that easy," Misara told him.

He nodded.

"I have sent a message to Queen Amlaruil," Misara told him. "She may contact Alustriel soon to offer aid in this matter."

"No doubt such a thing would be welcome."

"Perhaps," Misara said softly. With the difficulties of late in Evermeet and in Evereska she was not certain if any forces could be spared.

"The politics of this all just gets more difficult."

"They always do."

Domas sighed. "It was all so much simpler when I was younger. You vanquished evil and everything was well. I envy those young men and women who have not realised that it is so much more complicated."

"I don't," Misara told him. "They have yet to learn the lessons, and that is always harder than living with it afterwards. That is a lesson I don't envy anyone learning."

"I fear that this might weaken the league, even break it."

"A supreme irony if it does."

"Yes. What can I do?" It was not a rhetorical question. He truly wanted to know, was asking her as the teacher she had once been to him.

Misara did not feel as if she should be giving him any advice, but she answered his question as best she might. "You do what you are doing now. Work to strengthen the league and help the people of the Marches. Be there to offer counsel when asked. And whatever you do, never got caught up in the attempts at others to take power."

He nodded.

Misara turned her attention back to the river. "There is one thing that I will tell you, something that I think Alustriel already knows. Queen Amlaruil will not allow the threat of Asharass to go unmet. She will not take a direct hand in what happens, unless it appears that the League of the Silver Marches is unable to properly deal with it. If that happens she will likely move. I'm not certain what she will do, but it will be an unmistakeable show of force."

Domas shook his head, but not in negation. "Such an action could break the League." He was silent for a short time, and then turned towards her. "Something has happened to you."

She nodded.

"Might you tell me?"

"I've lost the way."

"What do..." He paused. "I see. How..."

"Not important, not really. A choice. It was only a choice."

Domas said nothing, he seemed at a loss for words.

Misara shifted about and reached for her sword. The songbird leapt from the sheath and fluttered up to perch on her shoulder. She stood and looked down at Domas. "Do not despair yet Domas," she told him, and smiled. "From these fires something strong and lasting may yet be forged. Both for myself and for the league."

She turned walked towards the north side of the city. The songbird on her shoulder chirped happily.

* * *

Misara was dressed for travelling. Breeches, a chemise, and a short-jacket, her elven chain shirt hidden beneath. She wore a cape over it all, with a wide brimmed hat for protection from the sun. Perched on the brim of her hat was the songbird, silent for the moment. Ree'anor was at her side, about the only obvious martial thing about her.

She led Iron from the stable of the Golden Oak. One of the stable hands had obviously spent a lot of time brushing out Iron's coat, likely in some futile attempt to make the horse more appealing to the eye.

"Well, are you ready to ride?"

Iron snorted, and he stomped on the ground with his right, front hoof.

"Me too," she told him, and then put the saddlebags on him and the rig that held her bow and quiver. She swung up on his back, shifting her sword about as she did so. "Let's go you ugly brute."

Iron cantered down the street, forcing a few people to step quickly out of his way. They passed the old wall and then entered the market. Misara had to slow Iron lest he knock someone over in the crowded area. They exited the city through the Sundabar gate and Misara let Iron run as they travelled a short distance down the road that eventually led through the Moon pass to Sundabar.

Less than a mile from the walls of Silverymoon, on a grassy hill, dotted with trees, was a small graveyard. Misara left Iron near the gate and continued on foot, passing through the low, stone, wall and starting up a path that led through grave markers.

Rowan, dressed in her armour, was seated near a fresh grave, about midway up the hill. The stone that marked the grave was a large slab of polished stone, shot through with lines of gold and silver.

Misara walked up to the stone and ran her hand over the rough texture of the edge. Under Olpara's name were the words, 'Hero of the Battle of Red Tears Hill'.

"I'm leaving now," she said to Rowan.

"To the High Forest?"

"Yes."

"I'd like to visit you. Perhaps before the summer ends."

"I'd like that as well," Misara told her, and then knelt down beside Rowan.

"Do you think I forced Olpara to travel with us?" Rowan asked.

Misara reached into the pocket of her jacket and brought at a small, velvet bag. She tossed it back and forth between her hands, the contents made a soft, clicking sound. "Ultimately Olpara forced herself to travel with us. She was looking for herself. Nothing you could have done would have made a difference. You are not responsible. Give Olpara some credit for having control of her own life."

"I miss her, and I regret that we did not have more time together."

"Be glad for what time you did have. Regrets are far too dangerous." She grabbed Rowan's arm and forced the velvet bag into her gauntleted hand. "Send this to Olpara's friends. She would be glad to know that the ship she dreamt of was finally built."

Rowan looked at the bag, bouncing it in her hand. "Thank you."

Misara got up from the ground and looked around. "There are only two reasons you should spend any length of time in a place like this Rowan." She started walking down the path. "One is if you are dead. The other is if there are undead to make dead. You're a Paladin Rowan Jassan," she called back over her shoulder, "and there is plenty of evil out there that needs to be dealt with and I trust that you will do so." She turned back to the path and continued down.

"Sing," Misara said.

The songbird fluttered down to her shoulder and began to chirp.

* * *

Hours later, a little after noon, Misara slowed Iron down. There was a figure on the side of the road. She was naked, but for long, white hair, and she watched Misara approach with wide, gold eyes.

Misara stopped Iron and looked down at her. "If you seek revenge I must tell you that there are far better ways to die than by my sword."

She shook her head. "My name is Siishi."

"Well met Siishi."

"You killed Ippla and Liman."

"Yes, I suppose I did."

"I don't like being alone," Siishi said in a soft voice.

Misara looked down at her for a time. Plenty of evil out there, she thought. There was plenty of good as well. And for those things in between, well, sometimes all it took was a gentle prod. "Will you ride or run?"

Siishi looked at Iron with some alarm.

"Run it is then. Try to keep up." She squeezed Iron with her knees. He took off at a gallop.

Some time later Misara looked over to the side. The white tiger was pacing her, running flat out on the ground beside the road. She laughed, truly laughed, for the first time in days, and urged Iron to run faster. As she did her hat was blown from her head and left behind, fluttering down to lay on the road.

* * *

They had taken everything away.

The glass skin had been shattered, by the very gnomes that had crafted it. The shards had been swept from the hall.

There was no light in the hall, no noise.

She did not mind. She had spent more than twenty thousand years in the darkness and silence. Then she had not known if she would ever be free. Now she knew it would only be a few years at most.

A few years was but a blink of an eye for Asharass.


	31. Character Stats

Providing character stats for this story is a little more difficult than I think you may appreciate. Part of it is that it has been more than two years since I wrote it, so I have not really thought about it much. I will have to reread it to get a feel for characters.

There is also putting numbers to ideas that won't really match.

Let's take Misara Anor'Esira, she's been doing the paladin thing for more than a century, and before that she was a dilettante on Evermeet (Noble NPC class I guess) and maybe had at least a decade at that. So, what sort of level do you assign? I suppose I'll limit myself to 20th level as a max, just to keep things simple.

Consider this a work in progress

So

At the start of the story

**Misara Anor'Esira**, Lawful Good, Moon Elf, Female, Level 2 Noble, Level 18 Paladin  
enchanted elven Chain mail, magical long sword – Graceful Steel, Holy Avenger  
Companion Warhorse – Iron

**Rowan Jassan**, Lawful Good, Human, Female, Level 11 Paladin of Sune  
magical plate armour, magical long sword

**Olpara Sweetharp**, Neutral Good, Halfling, Female, Level 8 Rogue

**Domas Telbaker**, Lawful Good, Human, Male, Level 16 Paladin of Tyr  
Magical plate armour, magical great sword

**Liman**, Chaotic Neutral, Weretiger (human), Male, Level 6 Warrior, Level 6 Ranger

**Ippla**, Neutral Evil, Weretiger(human), Male, Level 6 Ranger, Level 4 Cleric of Malar

**Siishi**, Chaotic Neutral, Weretiger (Elf), Female, Level 6 Ranger

**Cirtimin**, Neutral, Human (perhaps with demon blood?), Male, Level 12 Wizard, Level 4 Loremaster

**Conkordia,** Neutral Good, Drow, Female, Level 8 Cleric of Eilistraee, Level 6 Ranger

**Serdeia, **Chaotic Good, Drow, Female, Level 8 Cleric of Eilistraee, Level 6 Sword Dancer

**Vilis**, Chaotic Good, Drow, Female, Level 10 Cleric of Eilistraee, Level 10 Loremaster

**Lindra Anor'Esira**, Chaotic Good, Elf (Moon + Drow), Female, Level 5 Cleric of Eilistraee

**Onica Jade**, Neutral, Half Elf, Female, Level 8 Rogue, Level 5 Divine Seeker (Patron Deity Oghma)

**Celeb Argyros**, Probably Chaotic Good, Maybe an Elf, Male, Possibly a high level expert

**Kesk Hornskull**, Neutral Evil, Half Orc, Male, Level 5 Warrior, Level 5 Cleric, Level 7 Divine Champion  
No gear at the beginning of the story

**Windama Nefalus**, Moon Elf, Male, Chaotic Good, Level 15 Cleric of Labelas Enoreth

**Jaztar Oakwater**, Human, Male, Lawful Evil, Level 8 Cleric of Bane, Level 9 Wizard


End file.
